


Come full circle (into a spiral)

by KyryeDuBarie



Category: Bleach
Genre: Also Grimmy's potty motuh, Grimmjow POV, Hollow intincts, M/M, Oblivious Grimmy, Only rated M because their heads go to weird palces, Pining, Profanity, Touch-Starved, might make a series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyryeDuBarie/pseuds/KyryeDuBarie
Summary: His hair is soaked and it drips down his back when Grimmjow tilts his had to the sky and laughs too. What else can he do?
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 59
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, on paper I've been working on this for a week, but I assure you, anything past the 500 word mark was written today. This is sort of my take on touch-starved Grimmjow, and it might become a series/ chaptered fic.  
> I had fun trying out Grimmy's POV, though it still feels a little shaky, I really hope you all like it.

The biggest turn of a screw to Grimmjow's life starts with the orange-haired woman.

No, scratch that.

Actually, the start of it crashes into Grimmjow like one of those bus-contraptions that Kurosaki’s sisters go to school in.

And it’s not the stupid woman at all, it’s Kurosaki himself

He’s wilder with half of his face twisted into trademark hollow glee and a bone white horn growing from his forehead. Wilder, and meaner, and so exciting that they both get carried away. Their fights aren’t to the death now, mostly because of all the fucking _nagging_ Grimmjow would have to take from Harribel if anything happened to the savior of all the planes of existence, or whatever they’re calling Kurosaki now. And the fact that Kurosaki himself has some sort of pansy-ass reason for nor wanting to go all out.

-the ginger did try to explain it that one time, but after the word _philosophy,_ and taking into account that for half the explanation he looked like he was swallowing a cantaloupe whole, it went right over Grimmjow’s head-

But _whatever_ , they only fight to _near_ -death now and it has it’s ups.

Like Kurosaki humoring him with his hollow side.

Not that he’s doing it _solely_ for Grimmjow.

This fine summer Sunday morning, as he was lazing around in the back porch of Urahara’s house, the ginger was a goddamn beam coming closer from the other side of town, Yoruichi even complained of a headache before she promptly sneaked through the Senkaimon, and Urahara has been nowhere to be seen since breakfast.

And when Kurosaki arrived, even if he hadn’t been cracking with reiatsu like a malfunctioning electronic, Grimmjow would have known just from the look in his face that he was getting a good goddamn fight.

So, he pushed his luck a little and asked Kurosaki -who, honestly, looked like his birthday just came early- to bring the hollow out.

“Go to hell!” Kurosaki shoots forward, artificial light bouncing off the ivory of the horn. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

Yeah, Kurosaki’s meaner, faster, and it must be that they both miscalculate, because what’s supposed to be a midair clash in a familiar, immensely enjoyable dance, becomes them both flying down into the ground of Urahara’s damned bunker faster that a meteorite. “Damn right, Kurosaki!”

And Kurosaki’s face remains twisted up in glee until the last second too, his one clawed hand digging under Grimmjow’s clavicle, his other parrying the Arrancar’s claws as he drives them into the earth hard enough to absolutely obliterate any of his human friends completely.

Of course, Grimmjow isn’t his friend, and he’s also not a puny pile of meat like all those losers.

But Kurosaki really is going pretty damn fast.

They crash, dirt and rock flying everywhere, reiatsu wildly lashing around their bodies, and still, they don’t stop crashing through layers and layers of solid ground forming a crater in the bunker's floor. Only then do Kurosaki’s eyes widen, only then does the horn start to dissolve as it dawns on him that he has more than half his thumb buried in a hole right under Grimmjow’s clavicle.

Kurosaki's side of the flaring reiatsu dies down, and without it pushing Grimmjow back, they soon stop. It leaves him face up at the bottom of a remarkable crater, with Kurosaki on top of him, looking mildly fascinated and mildly horrified at the hole his thumb -and, in the case of his other fingers, the deep scratches- leaves when he removes it from the space adjacent to the top of Grimmjow's lung.

Grimmjow smirks up at the dumbfounded -almost _horrified-_ face that Kurosaki makes. “D’aw, I guess the fun is over.” He cackles, throwing his head back. “Fucking Kurosaki, I like you more with that horn, you go all out. 'S more fun when you don't hold back.”

Usually this would be the cue for Kurosaki to get up, cursing, and begrudgingly drag Grimmjow over to the springs. But when he stops laughing the weight of the other’s body is still on his and when he looks down he’s being pinned to the floor by a pair of eyes that look like the soul king might or might not be lurking deep in them. “I almost ripped your collarbone out.” Kurosaki says flatly, no longer horrified, but seeming confused.

His sword has fallen out of his grasp and his bloodstained hand is hovering over the injury -which is already closing-. “Think highly of yourself, don’t you?” Grimmjow laughs again. “Figures, but nah, like your hand would be enou-”

“I wasn’t asking.” The damned idiot interrupts him, hand coming down to mimic the grip, narrowly avoiding the wound. “I thought about it, I could have.”

There’s some sting to the grip, but nothing compared, to, well, everything else. They both have deep gashes everywhere, hell, Grimmjow can see the place where Kurosaki’s flank has turned a dark purple that just screams internal hemorrhage. “-the fuck are you going on about-” the grumbles, there may be a sting to the touch, but it’s a barely-there, gentle thing that’s making his skin tingle. “-I can rip out your intestines right now Kurosaki, move it!”

But Kurosaki seems entranced looking at how his hand is clamped around Grimmjow’s collarbone, his thumb flicks over the hole it made, almost soothing. “That would defeat the purpose of _not_ fighting to the death, Grimmjow.” he scolds absently and sword-roughened fingers splay and slide up, up like they think they’re going to find something in Grimmjow's neck. Maybe another gash to gawk at, although he’s sure Kurosaki knows he didn’t hurt Grimmjow _there._

 _“_ So does crushing me to death or letting me bleed out in this crater, you dipshit.” He huffs, shivering at the stupid tingling feeling of the pads of Kurosaki’s fingers brushing the back of his neck.

They wrap around his neck, as deadly as they are gentle, Kurosaki just keeps looking at him in that uncomfortable way, like it _hurts_ and when the pads of those fingers brush over the knobs of his spine it’s-

A natural reaction. Grimmjow bucks up, arms coming up to push the other away with such force that Kurosaki ends up skittering to the floor a good few feet away from him, looking guilty for some reason. “Oh fuck you Kurosaki.” He snarls, because, really, what the _actual_ fuck was that? “Don’t waste my time.”

The burst of reiatsu from undoing his second release is enough to propel him over to the hot spring.

When he throws what’s left of his clothes to the side and sinks into the water, his skin is still tingling.

.

.

 _Then_ the damn orange-haired woman comes in.

Or rather, she stumbles into Urahara’s stupid shop when the sun is setting, hell-bent on buying sour-gummies, non-stop chattering about some stupid date she’s going on tomorrow.

Fed up with it, Grimmjow peeks his head in from where he’s laying in the back porch with one of Ururu’s magazines on top of his face. “Oi, shut-”

“Oh, Grimmjow-san, how are you? I was hoping to run into you-” she says brightly, and _what?_ “-Kurosaki-kun asked me to tell you he won’t be able to make it tomorrow since we’re going to Okinawa. He said you can reschedule from Tuesday- or was it Thursday? It must be Thursday because our break starts-”

She keeps talking, but he doesn’t hear, the sound in his ears is like the whistle of the train but at the wrong hour and there’s red-hot anger building in his chest. So Kurosaki is blowing him off for some ass?

Part of him is clamoring to do something that might get him killed.

Maybe he should, it’s not like he’s had much fun lately, and Harribel wouldn’t miss him since he won’t adhere to her stupid chore wheel. Maybe Urahara _would_ miss a dummy for his stupid experiments.

But then, the soul society would have to catch him first.

Or rather, they’d send Kurosaki. Because when do those bastards get their hands dirty when they can just use Kurosaki?

That’s the thought that stops him.

Not the woman’s unnerved look at his snarling teeth and how he crouches on the floor. _Fucking_ Kurosaki and his fucking weird looks and his acting like he actually killed Grimmjow last week.

-he does notice _how_ she looks frightened, doe-eyed and soft, all weakness and caramel hues, the kind of woman that Ururu’s stupid magazines say all girls want to become, whatever that means-

“Fuck Kurosaki.” he snarls, turning back around. “Tell him he can choke. I’m going back to Hueco Mundo.”

And before anyone can say anything else, the Garganta rumbles open, and the smell of sand and eternal night is filling Grimmjow’s nostrils.

.

.

“It’s not polishing the floors if you’re literally scrapping the marble off.” Nel is sitting on the crumbled remains of what was once a walkway. “I thought you said you’d never adhere to Harribel’s chore-wheel.” She says, in a stupid sing-song voice that makes her sound like she’s still in that toddler form.

“Fuck you.” He chants right back. “I’m sick of humans, that enough of an explanation?”

“I wasn’t asking for one.” She shrugs, standing up, heels tapping on the white marble. Grimmjow looks up from the stupid floor which he indeed has already half scraped off. “I really didn’t think you were coming back, though. For all you laid it on me, you like those humans just fine.”

He frowns at her. “’M a Hollow.” Grimmjow grunts, and Nel’s eyes twinkle with amusement. His eyes slide lower. Objectively, she looks a little like the Orihime woman, well, when it comes to breasts and hair, the coloring is different, Kurosaki would probably ditch him for Nel too, now that he thinks about it.

Why the hell is he even thinking about it?

“Hm.” She smiles a little to herself. “I never thought I’d see you tongue tied, Grimm-Grimm.”

“I’ll tie _your_ stupid tongue up, bitch.” He huffs, dropping the mop in his hands and taking a step closer so he’s towering over her. “Wanna fight? Kurosaki may have ditched me, but you’ll do.”

One second, he’s snarling at her unimpressed face, the next he’s flying back and through a wall. Nel is standing beside him, looking unaffected. “Oh, so that’s what has you acting like even more of a psychopath than usual.” She grins. “I’m not going to play-fight you like Ichigo, forget it.” Her hand twitches, like she’s about to offer it to him. “You can go have your thousandth rematch with him when he’s done studying or whatever’s important enough to pry him away from you.”

Its a shame she didn’t offer her hand, it would have made for a hell of a throw.

But Grimmjow manages, his foot hits her in the side, sends her flying into a column that cracks all the way to the ceiling when her body slams against it. And he doesn’t slack either, the second she’s level with the floor his hand closes around her throat. The damned woman has the gall to still look unimpressed. “I’m not _play_ -fighting Kurosaki, we spar-”

She shrugs. “Play-fight, isn’t that what it is?” His fingers tighten, she grimaces, and the next thing he knows, there’s a foot half-buried in his abdomen. “I have no idea what he did to hurt your fee-”

And now there’s a hand half in Nel’s, he leans in close, teeth bared. “-I don’t give a flying fuck about him ditching tomorrow to go fuck that simple-minded woman-” he huffs as Nel’s eyes widen.

He doesn’t even _want_ to _fight her_ anymore.

So he turns around and leaves.

There’s surely a trail of blood leading to the old wing that houses the only sleeping quarters that didn’t get crushed during the many wars that have blown over the compound, all over the scratched marble floor. Harribel’s going to be a pain.

Good, maybe she won’t get all up in his face about Kurosaki.

A good fight with someone that doesn't nag at him, that’s all he _needs_.

.

.

Harribel isn’t a fool. She humors the first blatant mess he makes, after the second she makes him paint the doors, Tiburon poking at his ribs as he goes. And when the third happens -and it takes the domed roof of one of the three big halls that survived everything- he’s thrown out of a Garganta smack in the middle of the backyard of Urahara’s shop.

Whatever, at least he has a room here.

Sort of.

Urahara managed to use Kido to enlarge a closet, a bed and a nightstand are more than enough. It’s not like he has many clothes.

Besides, the rooms at Las Noches -which he generally picks at random, no bloodstains on the sheets is his general go-to- are all in that horrid all-white scheme that Aizen so adored and it hurts his eyes.

Meh.

“Oi, Cat guy’s back!” Jinta calls, leaning out of one of the kitchen windows. “Did you at least bring something back from your hissy fit?” He asks maliciously.

“D’ya want me to drag an adjuchas though?” He answers, equally malicious. “I can, little punk, and I’ll let it eat your face.” At least it smells like there’s something greasy cooking inside. Grimmjow doesn’t need human food, but it’s some variety from raw hollow meat, which barely tastes like anything unless it’s a particularly good catch.

“Urahara would skin yours.” The redhead huffs, sticking his tongue out and promptly disappearing back into the house.

Snickering, Grimmjow heads for him, phasing through the walls of the shop, silent as a panther. He finds Jinta stirring a pot of stew, brows furrowed until they meet in a little wrinkle between them. . He circles the teen, careful to keep his reiatsu relatively tamed down, not that the fool can feel the difference, but it’s worth it when he stands right behind him and drives two relentless middle fingers right under his ribs.

“AW- WHAT THE FUCK?!” Jinta yelps, holding a barely reddened hand. “You’re not getting any food here tonight you stupid cat!” He yowls, ladle pointing at Grimmjow in a way that somehow manages to be threatening through how comic it is. “I’m serious!”

“Ururu will save me a dish.” He counters, leaning back into the counter, noticing a brownish stain on the white lapel of his jacket. “Also, fuck you shrimp, you got that on me.”

Jinta’s eyes narrow. “Serves you right.”

“Do you really want me to tear your face off?” Grimmjow grunts tugging the zipper of his jumpsuit low, lower, he feels like he’s covered in white dust too, he probably is. “My share better be in a bowl by the time I get back down here.”

Jinta bristles and turns around, angrily shoving the ladle in the stew, a bit even splashes him in the arm, but he doesn’t complain. “The hell it will! In fact I-”

There’s a shuffle of feet behind Grimmjow, and the smell of Jasmine and something bitter reaches him. He knows he’s only hearing Urahara because the ex-captain wants to be heard, but he still manages to turn to glare at the man before he manages to speak. “Now, now Jinta. Don’t be so harsh, Grimmjow does make himself useful when he’s actually here.” Urahara says, unbearably blasé, as he leans against the door jamb. “Although he hasn’t much been lately. Ah but I’m so kind a landlord I’m willing to ignore two weeks of absence-”

This time it’s Grimmjow’s turn to bristle. “I wasn’t gone two weeks-”

Hueco Mundo, by definition, has no days or nights. And it’s not like he was counting the days, though he did sleep a lot.

The hat-clad man snorts, hand flying up in a dismissive gesture. “One week and six days of another, then.” He laughs lowly and prances off to where Jinta is stirring the boiling stew, taking the ladle and tasting a bit of it despite the fact that it must be tearing his tongue off. When he rises, there’s that usual unassuming-though-not-at-all smirk on his lips. “Anyways, If you can let Kurosaki apologize for whatever it is he did and get him off my back, I will be magnanimous and not hold it against you.”

Kurosaki is the last thing Grimmjow expected him to mention, he grits his teeth, a hand tightening around Pantera’s hilt. “What does that moron have to do with my dinner? I haven't seen him in like a month-” He rolls his eyes, what has that idiot been _telling_ people? The last thing he needs is Saint Kurosaki’s protection squad nagging him.

Jinta swats at his covered belly with a dishtowel, signaling to get out of the way as he heads for the refrigerator. “Well, duh, everyone knows you two are fighting.”

Urahara makes an assenting sound that reminds Grimmjow of a child rather than one of the oldest spirit-whatever beings in the world. “Right, and he’s all up in knots about it, you know? I understand that he can be a little dense and this is _clearly_ bothering you too since you put up with painting all those doors but-”

“ _What_ is bothering me now? Did one of your stupid experiments explode? Are you two high?” He stops for a second, all of Urahara’s words sinking in. “And how _do_ you know about the doors, do you have sp-”

“Ah, ah, no, Grimmjow-kun.” Urahara interrupts him, eyes like steel, and what does Grimmjow care anyways? “We’re talking about you and Ichigo-kun”

“Ha, I wish they were high!” Ururu singsongs, peeking a head of ink-black hair in the little, green-wallpapered kitchen. “Ichigo-san keeps coming by like a sad doggy. I’ve given him candy so he’d cheer up, but he’s really pushing it now. Today, he only left after I threatened to sweep him outside with the dust.” She shrugs, as she hip bumps Jinta away from where he was going to start stirring the stew again and serving herself a bowl.

“Wha-”

“Really, Grimmjow-” Urahara continues, leaning against the counter like he can actually get tired form some nosy twenty-year-old hanging around him unobtrusively. Honestly, Grimmjow sometimes thinks that if the guy gave up being dramatic he’d explode within a day. “-he’s giving me grey hairs. And it’s him, what did he do that’s so bad? He really looks all puppy-esque, it’s giving Yoruichi ideas.” Having had enough of this, Grimmjow tries to walk past the ex-captain, the doorway is two steps away and he can phase through most things if necessary. A hand stops him though, hard as still as it clamps around his shoulder. “Just stand there and let him apologize, I’ll let you two use the night setting in the bunker?”

“What would we-” A growl escapes his throat, suddenly, all he wants is to punch the stupid smirk off Urahara’s face. “What the fuck are you two even talking about? I didn’t have a fight with- Ok I _did_ but it’s what we do, what’s got you all into a tizzy over it?”

“Oh, it’s not us.” Jinta complains, shoving Ururu away from the pot and getting back to his stirring, free hand on his hip. “It’s Kurosaki hanging around here like you died or something.”

This is stupid. Maybe it’s some sort of practical joke that Urahara has conned/threatened everyone into. Because it really makes no sense. Sure, Kurosaki was a weird spacey mess the last time they fought, but Kurosaki is some sort of mess all of the time, the guy is a bunch of contradicting energies stitched together by force. Try as he might, anyone who’s been around him enough can see the hollow and the Quincy beating the crap out of each other behind his eyes sometimes.

So Kurosaki _might_ be a mess, but it certainly has nothing to do with Grimmjow, maybe it’s about that woman of his or-

Whatever, Kurosaki probably wants someone who’ll fight him without anyone lecturing him first.

That’s all he ever seeks Grimmjow out for, why are these dolts making it more complicated than it is?

The greater dolt, namely Urahara, is staring at him though, smile gone, eyes sharp under the shadow of his hat and when he speaks his voice is low almost like he’s talking to himself. “Ichigo-kun won’t talk about it, so that’s why I assumed-” His eyes widen, even as they keep darting over Grimmjow’s face “Oh, my- that’s a twist. Maybe _you_ don’t feel like anything strange is happening." He laughs, and the hand is gone, leaving a faint ache in it’s wake. “Don’t worry. I do recommend you go see him right this instant though-

“Fuck no, I’m hun-” Grimmjow interrupts him, intending to turn around, cold stew after the showers is better than having to endure this for much longer.

But then Urahara’s standing right right in front of him, his face a mask of patience. “Now, now, we’ll save you a plate, I’ll even let you have some sake from the cellar.” He says, tone condescending and it makes Grimmjow rage. “Just go see him right no-”

Yeah, that’s _enough_.

He’s a dogged errand boy? Fine. He literally feels better in the closet here than in the barren rooms in Las Noches? Whatever. But fuck it if he’s going to let himself be dicked around with. “You don’t tell me what to do Shinigami!” He snarls, satisfied when a droplet of spit lands on Urahara’s chin. “Fuck you! Make me!”

Maybe this is his fight. Urahara _could_ kill him. Probably. Crafty bastard.

Instead, the man remains smiling. “Should I throw you back in Harribel-san’s throne room?” He says, taking a step back, raising his hands like that stupid smile isn’t setting all of Grimmjow’s instincts to ‘fire’. “Be a sport for once, Grimmjow-kun, it can’t hurt-” No, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez isn’t made to be placated, or manipulated or whatever this shit is. “-and if you don’t I’m afraid Ichigo might be hesitant to spar you next time you seek him out. We don’t want that, do we?”

“Like I need that prick!” Grimmjow huffs, turning around, reiatsu already gathering at his feet vibrating. “You know what? Keep your stupid food! I’m out, and I’m not going to see that fucking ginger!”

A bolt of Sonido carries him out of the room and the shop, it got dark while Urahara and the other idiots were putting on whatever circus that was.

Clouds cap the sky, and Grimmjow doesn’t stop.

.

.

Kurosaki is a fucking beacon.

That’s literally the only reason he’s sitting on the roof of his house.

Li-te- _ra_ -lly.

Besides, where else is he going to go? To Harribel? If he does that he might as well challenge her for the crown. He’ll most likely not win and she’ll know not to let that kind of disrespect slide, even from Grimmjow.

A being made of death, bringing it about more often than not, isn’t all that afraid of it.

But then again, a being made of death might well want life more vividly than any other.

He snorts, if he's thinking stupid shit like that, maybe he’s spending too much time around Urahara anyways. It might also be Ururu’s stupid magazines, maybe he should start sleeping with Urahara’s books on his face to block out the sun instead.

It’s a warm night, almost unbearably so, anything is warm in comparison to the giant ball of marble and night that is Las Noches. The sky above him is capped with clouds, though and the air feels wet and thick, the smells of Kurosaki’s little suburbia impregnating it.

He’ll never admit it but Grimmjow breathes it in a little greedily, humans are weird, and often just plain stupid, but their world has it’s nice things.

“Hi.” Sitting atop Kurosaki’s house is practically being in the middle of the huge beam of reiatsu that he is, no wonder Grimmjow didn’t notice him climbing up. He’s in his Shinigami form, swords strapped to his waist, heavy looking shoulder armor conspicuously missing. “Are you here to drag me to the bunker?” he asks, the skin between his brows wrinkles a little.

He’s not meeting Grimmjow’s eyes, which is… well, odd. Kurosaki’s many things but he’s not shy. “Nah, Urahara’s on something weird tonight, I don’t want to end up with an extra arm or something.” He says after thinking about it for a moment. He’s not going to give hat-and-clogs the satisfaction.

Kurosaki looks at him oddly from where h’s standing. “You know we can’t fight in Karakura.” He says quietly, almost sounding tired. “Ishida’s dad _will_ show up and he _will_ kill us both-”

“And we might wake up all your other precious humans, and yada, yada, yada-” Grimmjow interrupts him, rolling his eyes as he leans back. “Let me sit in peace for a bit Kurosaki, ‘m tired and not going back there until Sandals is asleep.”

Anyone else would go back in their house and hope the not-so-murderous Hollow would leave at some point, Kurosaki is Kurosaki though, he was probably the kind of kid who went around eating bugs to see what would happen, so he flops down on the tiled roof, close enough that Grimmjow can feel the warmth radiating off him. “I was actually gong to suggest Hueco Mundo, you ass.” He shoves playfully at Grimmjow’s shoulder. “What? Did you think I was going to throw you out of my roof?” He asks, when Grimmjow makes a face at him.

The house isn’t very tall, just enough to put them at eye level with the street lamps outside. Grimmjow can see the silhouette of a cat, lighting fast, darting over the roof of the house in front of them before it disappears down the eaves. “Harribel’s on my ass about a stupid dome.” He explains, not bothering to add that there really is something heavy dragging his limbs down, something that could be exhaustion except he’s slept a bunch. “There’s always the Menos forest.”

Kurosaki snorts. “Fuck you, then she _and_ Kyoraku will be on _my_ ass for disturbing the balance.”

Grimmjow just shrugs.

Silence, like the sticky air, seems to adhere to their skins, a film of familiar moistness.

Two years they’ve been meeting up at Urahara’s on the weekends. Kurosaki set limits back then, clear ones, this is the first time Grimmjow’s even been close to his house in all this time. It’s probably why the Shinigami looked so frazzled before.

No clue why he’s being allowed to stay though. Not with Kurosaki’s precious sisters downstairs.

“…sorry.” It’s said in a low voice that almost doesn’t sound like Kurosaki at all.

“What?” He’s almost sure he misheard. But when he turns, Kurosaki’s eyes are serious, dyed in amber form the lamplight. “Are you on the same shit as Urahara?”

The other man clears his throat. “I- no? What did he say?” Embarrassment rises to his face, then panic. “I swear if-” He stops when he realizes -his face must be pretty obvious by now- that Grimmjow is utterly confused by this whole thing.

“Some shit about us fighting.” Grimmjow shrugs, forcing himself to look away. This whole thing is weird, maybe he shouldn’t have come here. He could have chosen any roof in Karakura.“I didn’t even understand what it was about.”

Kurosaki hesitates, and the pregnant pause that ensues forces Grimmjow to look at the hybrid again. He’s looking conflicted, bottom lip caught between his teeth like eh wants to bite it off. Finally, he leans back, head thrown back so he’s staring at the sky, and he speaks. “You _did_ kind of disappear. Inoue said you looked upset. I-”

Ah of course, he must’ve hurt the girls feelings or something. “Inuki is annoying an she’s got no reason to be poking about in my business.” Grimmjow cuts him off with a snarl, not able to help it, but not trying to stop himself either.

For a second Kurosaki’s eyes widen. “Don’t be unfair, she only told me what she saw.” He huffs. "And it's Inoue."

“Yeah, bet she told ya.” He straightens, arms folding over his chest.

An exasperated sound escapes Kurosaki’s throat, and a tentative hand lands, heavy on Grimmjow’s covered shoulder. “Hey, I don’t see anything wrong with her doing that, what’s going on?” He asks, all cow eyed and concerned-looking. Grimmjow kind of wants to push him off the roof.

Besides how is he supposed to say that he doesn’t know himself? Sure, the woman is ditzy but he’s never disliked her this much before. Maybe it’s just been a shit week, a shit month, but he’s not about to sing his woes to Kurosaki of all people. “What? I can’t go to Hueco Mundo for a few days without all of you thinking I’m throwing some tantrum. Or planning a murder?” He bristles, anger, as always, feels the safest. “You went off to fuck that one and no one’s questioning that.” He adds, just for good measure.

A fool, he is not.

Kurosaki’s face flushes and the warm hand on Grimmjow’s shoulder retreats. “How do-” He pauses for a second. “I guess she talks a lot. But it wasn’t like that.” He excuses lamely and Grimmjow may not be the most perceptive person but he can smell the lie.

“No?” The sarcasm in the question is as thick as the moist summer air.

It’s just a second before Kurosaki drops the façade, he looks away, bashful for some reason and draws his knees into his chest. “It didn’t turn out like that.” He admits finally, defeated. “We even headed back early.”

The wild lashing of satisfaction that bursts in his chest is something Grimmjow cant explain, he looks away. What the hell? “Didn’t put out?” He mumbles, eyes on the street lamp until they start to hurt.

Kurosaki bristles. “I’m not going to discuss that with you-” He hisses, though there’s still an undertone of embarrassment to his voice. “-and what do _you_ care? Were you annoyed I wasn’t going to show up? Because I told her to-” Well, there it goes, Kurosaki has this way of sometimes being patronizing as insufferable. It happens rarely and even less with Grimmjow, seeing as he tends to go for the throat when annoyed.

Whipping around quickly, and raising himself into a crouch, he reaches out, grabbing Kurosaki by the front of his Shinigami robes. “Listen here freak, I can bugger off to Hueco Mundo just because I want to! What do I have to justify it to you? Eat a dick Kurosaki, I’m not your pet.” When instead of reaching out, blow for blow, insult for insult, Kurosaki gets this hopeless, almost pitying look in his face, Grimmjow lets him go like he’s been burned. Fucking great, another one. His outburst doesn’t go unnoticed by the local fauna either, in the house beside them two dogs start barking and birds fly away from the trees on the street. Trust Kurosaki’s stupid little town to have spiritually aware animals. “Fuck it I’m going-”

His Sonido is fast, but Kurosaki’s used to it. Grimmjow isn’t even as far as the edge of the roof when the Shinigami phases in front of him and he collides into the stupid wall of muscle “I didn’t mean that and you know it, bastard,” Kurosaki huffs, and yet another stupid dog starts barking. “We’re going to get noise complaints.”

“Not my problem Kurosaki.” Not one to back off, he leans in, trying to use the measly inch he has on Kurosaki to loom over him. “Now either fight me or tell me what’s yours and let me rest the fuck up.”

For a second he’s sure it’s going to be the first one, Kurosaki tenses up like he’s about to blast Grimmjow to kingdom come or do something rash like that. Then he takes a deep breath and lets himself fall on the eaves again, resting the heels of his feet on the very last eave before there's nothing but air, gesturing for Grimmjow to follow with a resignation that does not suit the Kurosaki he knows. “I thought you were upset, so I went to look for you. _That’s_ what Urahara meant. You usually tell him when you’ll be back, but he was as clueless as I was.”

The fact that something’s wrong doesn’t even merit a mention. Grimmjow doesn’t take his eyes off the elbows that rest on top of Kurosaki’s bent knees as he sits back down legs dangling off the edge of the roof this time, an easy escape, just in case. “Well ‘s not like I planned it, Harribel had me painting stupid fucking doors.” He says, and the raspier, softer tone his voice takes on surprises even him. “Missed me, didn’t you?”

Kurosaki’s lips tremble a little, and he chuckles. “Only in so far as I’m scared to ask Urahara to spar with me, and Yoruichi always ends up naked somehow. You’re the only one-” He shakes his head, smiling wanly, as if on reflex. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back, though, so I kept asking, I wanted to apologize. I thought you were mad about that last time we sparred.”

There’s not a hint of insincerity in Kurosaki’s face or his voice, not now. But it still makes little sense. “About what?” Grimmjow asks, brow furrowed, trying to piece what Kurosaki might mean. His shoulder throbs, and only then does the thought come to him, he remembers the sting of a wound and Kurosaki’s eyes, both amber and bright yellow reflecting the sight of a bloodstained hand. He laughs. “Oh, you mean lookin’ like you wanted to lick my wound? That’s normal-”

Honestly he's done his bed not to think about that day. It was embarrassing enough living it. 

“Hey! I _didn_ _’t_ lick it-”Kurosaki bristles, cheeks flaming as he leans in to glare at Grimmjow.

He laughs again, because of course saint Kurosaki has a Hollow inside him and doesn’t know even _that_. “Woulda been less weird if you had, berry.” He reaches out and flicks the ginger’s forehead.

“Ow.” Kurosaki swats his hand away, an affronted look on his face. “What does that even mean?”

In hindsight, the question wasn’t avoidable, Grimmjow really doesn’t want to explain the grittier details though. “Uh- Hollow instincts?” He gestures at Kurosaki, biting his tongue not to add anything weird. In the end it’s most likely Kurosaki’s hollow was hungry. Kurosaki of all people wouldn’t awaken mating instincts like _that_ and with _him_ to boot. “You’re weird, like you’re part everything, and you clearly don't need to eat hollows, but it's normal for us. ”

“Wait, wait, wait! I never saw any of you bite other-Were you about to say you _want_ to lick my blood when we spar-” Kurosaki’s eyes are the size of dinner plates, it’s almost comical, if this weren’t an uncomfortable situation and Grimmjow weren’t still a little pissed off from the general nosiness of the people around him. “-wait, that’s kinda obvious, it’s you. I don’t usually bring out my hollow side and it caught me by surprise, anyways, I guess hollows do- uh-”

“ _Eat_ each other?” he emphasizes with a grin. “It’s normal Kurosaki, not a big deal. Aizen kind of forbade us from eating each other it cut on his numbers.” Except sometimes it is, but not this one. “Guess it explains why you got all touchy.” He mumbles, faint disappointment radiating from his hole outward, fucking Kurosaki not knowing things even _Grimmjow_ knows.

Wound up by now, Kurosaki jumps, his voice rising, squeaky. “What’s weird about that? I barely-” he huffs at the smirk on Grimmjow’s face. “-you’ve literally shoved your whole hand in my abdomen before.”

Of course it’s the same. Of course. The more he thinks that the more he knows it’s wrong, stupid Kurosaki. “’S different-”

Like a child denied a toy, Kurosaki crosses his arms over his chest, cheeks puffing out. “What, you’re ticklish or something?” He snorts, and amusement fills his eyes when Grimmjow breaks eye contact. “Fuck, you are.”

Grimmjow sort of knows where this is heading, it’s pretty obvious. He manages to catch the first hand that comes his way. “I’m not-” But the second catches him by surprise, it sets down on the strip of scarred skin that the front opening of his jumpsuit leaves bare, Kurosaki’s fingers were wiggling as they approached, but as soon as they meet the cold skin they still. “-hey what- get the fuck off Kurosaki.”

“No.” He smirks up at Grimmjow, teeth glinting, white and predatory. Then he looks at the skin his palm’s touching. “How come it didn’t leave a scar?” he asks, as if he’s begin curious about the weather. Soft pressure brushes over the place where Santa Teresa once nearly ended Grimmjow. “You have other scars.”

The stupid, tingling feeling wherever Kurosaki touches from that day two weeks ago seems to have been multiplied tenfold. “Because that bastard Nnoitra’s zanpakuto nearly cleaved me in half-” he grits out, feeling out of air for some reason. “-unlike your shitty hand, Kurosaki.”

The idiot isn’t listening, though, and it’s not just his thumb tracing the jagged scar anymore, the rest of his fingers join, trailing over it with a care that makes about as much sense as Grimmjow coming here tonight. And it feels weird, it’s not even bad weird, but it feels extremely embarrassing, especially with the way Kurosaki’s eyes won’t leave his face.

He can feel his mouth curl as blood rises to his face. It takes all of Grimmjow's willpower to clamp his jaw shut.

The hand travels lower, splaying over the generous expanse of chest that his usual outfit bares, resting there for a second then trailing back up again, until Kurosaki’s tickling at the short hairs behind his unmasked ear.

And then down again, bolder, more sure every time.

“I can feel your heartbeat-” Kurosaki’s voice cuts through the haze like a knife through hot butter. The Shinigami glances down. “-but I’m sure you don’t have an aorta. I wonder how that works.”

That’s when Grimmjow realizes he’s stiffened up to the point where his poor bunched up muscles are screaming, that somehow, at the same time he’s been leaning onto the callouses of Kurosaki’s fingers. There are also tiny droplets of wetness hitting his face in intervals, have been for a while even, it’s warm outside so it’s not really uncomfortable. “What are you-”

Something in him is misfiring, tangling up in confusion. Like in the bunker, Grimmjow's body jerks away forcefully, blood racing in his ears. Unlike at the bunker, though, he was just sitting at the edge of a roof.

The thing about cats falling on their feet is that they do. Unless there’s not enough space for them to turn around. Or the space is just enough, but they’re tangled on an idiot Shinigami that lunges in to try to save them from a three story fall that would barely land a scratch on them.

As it is, they land on the dirt of the small front yard of the Kurosaki clinic, narrowly avoiding both the manicured bush of gardenias growing from it, and the latticework that protects it. Having turned -and been turned, damn Kurosaki’s hero complex- around in the split second they spent in the air, Grimmjow lands smack on top of the Shinigami, his mask and the other’s clavicle bumping painfully into each other, their legs in a tangle that he doesn't care to try to figure out right now.

“Fuck! Ouch, you’re crushing me!” Kurosaki complains, breathing hard.

“No shit.” Grimmjow groans, flailing his hands until he finds something to brace himself up on that isn’t Kurosaki’s chest. “What the fuck was that Kurosaki?”

No, he doesn’t bother getting off the idiot, he got himself where he is, and also like this it’s easier to secure an answer. “I-” Kurosaki’s eyes are liquid amber, his mouth sets into a determined line. Like he’s doing something far more strenuous than raising his own hand he does it again. “-really did mean to tickle you.” This time, he slides his fingers under the shoulder of Grimmjow’s jumpsuit, spanning over his clavicle.

It’s weird. For a second Grimmjow has to stop and wonder if maybe he wasn’t accidentally -or intentionally- drugged back at the shop. Because it makes no sense that Kurosaki -Kurosaki who’s literally skewered him with a sword before- is making it hard to breathe with his fingers laying still over the place where Grimmjow’s heart -that he’s not too sure he even _has_ to begin with- is supposed to be.

And that he wants to stay where he is.

The world takes pity on him, the first big drop lands dead center on Kurosaki’s stupid wonder-filled face, making him jerk like he was just slapped or something.

The rain doesn’t stop, the sky quite literally opens up and the drizzle becomes a veritable summer shower. Kurosaki stares, for a second, gobsmacked as the raindrops hit his face.

And then he throws his head back and lets loose the creepiest super villain laugh that Grimmjow has ever heard -and he was in close proximity with Iwach, Aizen, and that weird Aizen knockoff with the poison-. Still, Kurosaki laughs, hair pressed to the dirt under him, the very tips of his fingers catching on Grimmjow’s clavicle, hooked on it like it’s where they belong.

Grimmjow wants to bite him for daring to laugh like that, Grimmjow, for once, wants to run away.

Except he doesn’t, not really.

He’d still like to bite Kurosaki, though he just ate an Adjuchas earlier. But the thought of what that means, it’s madness, more senseless than anything he can come up with.

Kurosaki’s stupid hand feels good on his chest, not hurting, not seeking to hurt. And the way the other's thumb presses soothingly to the scar that once nearly split him into two is everything but menacing.

His hair is soaked and it drips down his back when Grimmjow tilts his had to the sky and laughs too. What else can he do?

Except tell Kurosaki, of course, how fucking humiliating would that be?

So, why bother?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” Isshin shrugs. “I’ve been woken up by your bathroom routine every Sunday for two years, I think I’m owed a little more deference now that it finally seems to be leading somewhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um, I wasn't sure I was going to be continuing this yesterday? And then the plot demon possessed me and, well-  
> It is a multichapter Bbys!  
> And oh my god I love Writing Ichigo, he's just so done with everything

This was a bad idea.

And Ichigo has had many bad ideas over the course of his life, he tends to charge in headfirst and that’s why he had to switch his major last year. But ending up sharing a room in _Okinawa_ with a girl that really is a very nice person, and doesn’t deserve the fact that Ichigo sees her only and exclusively as a very precious friend, and is only here with her because some fucked up part of his already fucked up DNA has decided to want a being that would sooner rip his heart out than kiss him.

Which he figures Grimmjow is unknowingly doing anyways.

Figuratively, whatever. Damn, he made an abysmal literature major.

Inoue’s big brown eyes are looking up at him and its-

Not fair.

To her.

“I- I thought you knew, this is really my fault- I mean, you know I’m a bit of an airhead. I should’ve checked with you um- properly.” She babbles, her whole face is red. “I’m really, really sorry. I’ll go talk to the manager now!”

Guilt gnaws at him. “It’s not your fault!” He says, hands coming up to grip her shoulders, keep her from running off. “I’m so sorry Inoue I thought it was a good idea, but I don’t-” His voice runs lower. Anyone else would be jumping with joy. “It wouldn’t be right and I know I'm an ass. We came here for that concert, so lets go. I can take the couch. It’s fine.”

Inoue is admirable, if only for how her bottom lip wobbles but her eyes are steady. “N-no. I’m happy you’re coming with me, even if-” she gently brings her own hands up to pry his form her shoulders. “You know you’re special to me Kurosaki-kun-” she looks down. “-it’s ok.”

And it’s that, the part where she’s the one trying to console him for being an idiot that really drives it home.

“I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize.” She cuts him off softly. “I’ll really cry and get all puffy eyed. We can head back right after the concert.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Ichigo replies, a little desperate to be able to do _something._ It’s been easy to become closer, going to the same college, walking back home together when they can, with everyone else busy with their own lives and no reason to actually go off to soul society, Inoue is one of very few people that _get_ it, and for a second he wanted to believe it would be enough.

She smiles sadly. “Lets just act normal.” Her hair falls in front of her face. “I’m not blind, I mean, I knew you were upset about that fight with Grimmjow-san and he seemed upset the other day too. Did you know he crouches like a cat when he is? And his hair gets fluffier?”

“… you saw him?” He asks, frozen still while Inoue turns around to root through her backpack.

“Yeah, yesterday, uh- here.” She hands him a bag of squished sour gummies. “I think he was mad you weren’t going to come to your Sunday da- spar.”

Great.

These past few days he’s been hoping Grimmjow would be kind enough to forget about Ichigo’s… episode. It’s probably what he’s mad about, rash as he is, the ex-Espada isn’t _that_ irrational. But no one would appreciate someone pinning them down in the middle of a spar to… to… just touch them.

And at that moment, touching was the least of what Ichigo wanted to do.

Which is a train of thought he doesn’t want to take because he _has_ before and it goes to weird places that he isn’t ready to face on an empty stomach or an unclouded mind.

In front of him Inoue hums, her shoulders dropping, and she makes some excuse to leave the room. Ichigo barely hears her, lost in his thoughts as he is. Despite his best efforts, that scent, unidentifiable and laced with the copper-tang of fresh blood keeps haunting his memory. It makes his head spin, and somewhere in it, something dark laughs.

.

.

“I don’t think your Arrancar is coming by today either.” A familiar voice says before something rubs up against Ichigo’s calf. After all these years he still hasn’t gotten used to Yoruichi just popping up in cat form and rubbing against his legs, he almost kicks her away out of reflex. “Kisuke says he’s still in Las Noches. What did you _do_ kid?”

This summer has been unseasonably warm, and Ichigo has spent the better part of the afternoon mooching off the ice cream fridge in Urahara’s shop and staring listlessly out of the porch. “I didn’t do anything.” He sulks, like hell he’s admitting to Yoruichi he nearly licked Grimmjow and that’s why the Arrancar is mad at him.

“Oh, c’mon I know you better than that.” The talking cat says, jumping up on his lap and nudging Ichigo’s hand and the Popsicle it’s holding away. “He gets that creepy smile every Saturday and starts staring out of the window like every five minutes. Harribel didn’t call him this time.”

Ichigo throws his head back and groans. “I may have done something awkward.” Done, thought, same thing. “I thought he didn’t notice at the time.”

“Well, if you ask me, you two shred each other to bits every Sunday.” Yoruichi shrugs, as well as a cat can. “He likes you, I don’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t forgive if it came from you.”

Ichigo purses his lips, the air smells like summer, the sun is beating down but he can’t find hope in that. “I don’t think it’s about forgiving.”

“Then explain it away.” The cat says, a paw swatting playfully at his chin. “There must be an explanation, and Grimmjow-” she thinks for a second. “I think in many ways he’s more of a baby than you are, but he’s not stupid and he’s not cruel either. He’ll get it.”

Right, there is an explanation, he thinks bitterly. Namely that, on that day two weeks ago and not for the first time, Ichigo quite literally wanted to lean down and sink his teeth into Grimmjow’s neck, and his shoulder. And then, maybe his cheek and his lips. But at the barest press of his fingers the Arrancar ran like a literal scared cat. “..a baby?” he echoes.

“Well, a baby to us, at least.” She says, with a voice that’s as old as time. “As himself at least. You know he was one of the last Aizen made-” he didn’t. “And it’s not like he’s been properly socialized-”

“He’s not an actual cat.” Ichigo defends, without even thinking. He’s gotten a bit fed up of others treating Grimmjow like he’s feral over the years.

Yoruichi laughs, somehow. “I’d say he’s a lot like one, kiddo. One who only knew a very weird master.” She jumps off from his lap. “And now he’s almost a stray. Kisuke would take him for good, you know? He thinks he’s fun to play with. Remember the time he dyed the poor thing’s hair pink? But I don’t think Grimmy wants that.”

“Then what-” Ichigo asks, because _really_ , he’d like to know.

But Yoruichi is already walking away, her perky, slick tail swishing behind her. “Beats me, kiddo-”

Ichigo stares after her. He’s going to have to apologize anyways isn’t he? It’s not like Yoruichi knows how Grimmjow’s face looked that day.

.

.

Of all the ways he expected that conversation-slash-apology to go, it ending up with Grimmjow fresh from a shower standing in the middle of his room while Ichigo wonders why the hell he decided to get back into his body, definitely wasn’t one of them.

It’s all, like most of the mess that predates Ichigo’s life, Isshin Kurosaki’s fault. After their fall from the rooftop and subsequent bout of hysterical laughter where Ichigo was three seconds away from doing something terribly stupid, his father decided to peek out of the clinic in a set of old pajamas and crocs of all things.

And he insisted Ichigo offer his _guest_ the shower.

Gods he’s glad Yuzu and Karin are away at summer camp.

And maybe, just maybe it’s time to look into moving out.

So here Grimmjow is, turning one of Ichigo’s sleeping shirts over in his hands. Taking his sweet time while he’s literally shirtless in the middle of his room -unlike Ichigo, who took a very quick shower, ensuring only that he only got the grime out of his hair, in his father’s en-suite before he slipped into his pajamas- wearing only a pair of Ichigo's sweatpants, which are red, too short and clash terribly with his hair.

And he smells nice, fresh from the shower. Ichigo wonders whose shower products he used. No one else in the house smells like this

The Arrancar’s hair is heavy from the shower still, hanging around his face, there’s a drop of water running down his neck. Ichigo feels like he’s going to explode, or die, or need looser pants soon.

“Stop starin’ at me like I’m gonna eat your family. I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” Grimmjow growls, not meeting Ichigo’s eyes. “Your dad is one pushy bastard, you know?”

“Well, duh, he’s my dad.” He frowns, turning his pillow over in his hands. Kon is locked up in Yuzu’s room. Ichigo needs to be able to control as many factors as possible if he’s going to come out of here without having acted on his weird new urges or fought Grimmjow to the demise of half of Karakura. “And hey, first off, my sisters aren’t here, and good luck trying to eat my dad.” He glares at Grimmjow. “Second, it’s just a summer shower, it’ll clear up soon. Wait until it does.” He knows he sounds like he’s ordering Grimmjow around. But even after all this time, rain, especially sudden downpours like this, raise the little hairs on his arms into pinpoints.

Grimmjow stops to shoot him a baffled look, only his arms are in the shirt so far and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to put it on. “Weird that I have to point it out to you, but I’m not gonna catch a cold.” He grumbles, a blue eyebrow raised at Ichigo. “Tch, idiot.”

“You’re going to get soaked, though. Again.” And this time it’s not ordering, it’s softer. Ichigo bites his lip. “I don’t actually mind if you stay.” He continues, he’s already messed up, hasn’t he? What’s a little more? “You don’t have to go out in the rain.”

If Grimmjow has noticed these weird urges, the way it feels like he’s tugging at Ichigo’s stupid, confused, hybrid heart by breathing, he hasn’t said anything. He must know something’s going on _at least_ but he’s given no sign of it other than being skittish and generally more contrary than usual. Maybe it’s his way of pushing him away, but then, Grimmjow’s always been the kind to shove him through a wall instead.

Although maybe it’s just a question of riling him up enough, because this time Grimmjow _snarls_ teeth bared. “I’m fucking fine Kurosaki, ok?” He _finally_ shoves the shirt over his head and down his torso, hiding tanned skin and the darkness of his hollow hole. “I’m going, stop getting your panties in a twist over it.” His hands end up curled into fists by his sides.

And something in Ichigo cries that if he lets the Arrancar just storm off with that look on his face he’s going to see very little of him in the near future

“I-” He takes a deep breath, trying to make his tone steady and abhorrently failing. “Alright, what’s the deal? You’re mad because I grabbed you like that, is that it? I won’t do it again. It’s obvious you dislike it and I’m sorry.” He hates that he sounds half mad and half hurt, but it's that or biting through his lip to stay silent, so even in the face of complete confusion from Grimmjow, he continues. “Look, I’ll go sleep in Karin’s room. Just wait until the rain stops, then do whatever the hell you want.”

He means it, he does, he stands up on his heavy human legs, gathering his blanket in his arms.

And then Grimmjow is in front of him, incommensurately stronger in his spiritual form, and he’s shoving Ichigo back on the bed. “S’ not that. It feels weird, but it’s not that.” He doesn’t make a move to step away, looming over Ichigo instead, breathing hard.

Ichigo glares up at him, mouth twisted in frustration. “Then what? I don’t read minds.”

The Arrancar almost manages to look bashful when he looks away, and Ichigo’s chest begins to hurt. “You made that rule that I couldn’t come close to here or your sisters, I’m keeping my word.”

“You do remember that was back when you were still yelling you’d kill me every time you saw me, right?” He hurries to say, he tries to rise to his feet again but Grimmjow stops him with a steel-like hand. “I don’t- I don’t think I mind so much anymore.” He stops to think for a second, doing his best to ignore that he’s eye lever with Grimmjow’s chest. “But don’t bug my sisters. Karin is at that age where she wants to fight anything.”

A shit eating grin crawls over the Arrancar’s mouth. “That sounds fun.” Ichigo just glares at him. “Ok, fine, no fighting the child. So what do you want me to do here, Kurosaki?”

What doesn’t he want, he- “Sit down? For one? You’re going to wear a groove on the carpet.” He clears his throat, gods, why did Isshin have to come out when he did? His father is surely not done with this either, breakfast is going to be annoying.

Grimmjow hesitates for a lot more than a second. Like Ichigo has just told him to sit on his lap or something. But in the end he drops down on the bed beside Ichigo.

And that’s when a heavy, uncomfortable silence fills the room.

Ichigo makes it about five minutes with the question on the tip of his tongue and the rain pelting down against the window. “Weird how?”

“Huh?” Grimmjow’s head snaps to the side, eyes like electric sparks.

His cheeks are already burning, Ichigo instantly regrets every choice that led him here, including but not limited to that weird conversation he had with Yoruichi the other day. This is all her fault. “You said it felt weird, that I-” He gesture’s awkwardly at where Grimmjow’s scar is covered by his -straining- t-shirt. “-and you called me touchy before. But I didn’t really do much.”

He a dirty liar, and he knows it. None of those touches was innocent on his part -and is he really thinking of Grimmjow’s _innocence_ now? Is this how far he’s come in like two weeks?- and the only reason he’s pretending right now is because the Arrancar in front of him is clearly not interested.

“Weird like… weird.” Grimmjow’s face right now is the most comical thing he’s ever seen, mouth twitching, eyebrows raised. Shame he can’t enjoy it because his intestines have decided to turn themselves inside out. “What else is it going to be? Fucking humans may touch a lot. We don’t.”

Oh.

_Oh._

It’s not like Ichigo observed them much during the war, he definitely didn’t sit around studying their relationships like Urahara did. “Really? Not even-” He scrambles for someone Grimmjow seems even close to, but no one comes to mind. As far as he knows, Nel would like to leave him at the Menos forest for at least a century. “-not even your Fraccion?”

The other shrugs. “Not much.” He answers, subdued, almost vulnerable.

But this does explain more than a few things. “I guess that’s what Yoruichi-san was talking about-” Ichigo can’t help but mutter. Arrancar are made, and they weren’t exactly made kindly. He hardly believes Aizen ever tried to foster anything close to relationships between them other than grudging cooperation

Grimmjow bristles, eyes widening. “Don’t let that hag give you ideas.”

“She- didn’t.” Ichigo can’t help but laugh now, Yoruichi can scare anyone straight without even meaning to. “I just assumed, it’s not like I saw you guys interact much back in the past and you’re not close to the ones that are still-”

“Alive?” Grimmjow completes, eyebrows rising even more. “Hell no, Harribel might kill me, and Nel isn’t my type.”

Well, that’s that. Open and shut case. Maybe it’s for the best, considering everything else. “I won’t do it again. I guess, I’m just used to touching my friends..” He mumbles, disappointment washing over him.

Grimmjow stiffens, hands digging into the mattress. “I ain’t one of your puny friends.”

And oh no, that’s not one Ichigo is letting him have. If only because it feels a little more plausible to be losing his head over someone he considers a friend and not just a random sparring partner. “You’re not puny.” He says. “But you’re my friend.”

“Kurosaki, we cut each other for fun,” The Arrancar’s tone isn’t even disbelieving, it’s _matter-of-fact-what-are-you-on?_ It makes him a little mas. “You don’t do that with Inuki or the guy with the glasses.”

“Ishida doesn’t have time to spar.” Ichigo counters, meeting Grimmjow’s gaze. “And I enjoy sparring with you the most. You’re the only one that I don’t feel like I’m burdening blowing off steam or using my Hollow side, _that_ makes you a friend.”

The Arrancar’s mouth opens and closes, no sound comes out and Ichigo feels a little satisfied -well, the part of him trying not to look at any point under Grimmjow’s nose, not his lips, not his neck, not anything else- with himself. “So I’m on the same level as Inuki.” Grimmjow grumbles finally, dissatisfied.

Ichigo groans and flops back on the bed. “Her name is Inoue, and yes,-” He says, pinning Grimmjow with a gaze from where he lies. “I’d break into Hueco Mundo to get your ass if that’s what you’re asking. Do you have to be aggravating? It’s three in the morning.”

He sees the other swallow, once, twice, before he scoots back on the bed until his back hits the wall. “Hey, you can sleep if you want to. I don’t have stupid human things to do in the morning.” The tone is rough and Grimmjow’s eyes are stubbornly fixed in some point of Ichigo’s door.

Guess that’s as far as he’s getting on that front. “Fine, asshole.” He says, then swings his legs over on the bed and tucks them up into his chest, laying the blanket over himself.

This whole situation is senseless and stupid. He should’ve never gone out to his roof when he felt Grimmjow there, a lone star and the only one he’d recognize. No matter how much he’s missed the blue haired fucker. Now, the rational thing in the face of his stupid _crush_ -or at least what Ishida would do- is to put some distance, preferably physical distance, and get over it.

It’s what he _should_ do, but he doesn’t want to. This is so unfair.

Even to Grimmjow. Especially to Grimmjow.

And even more because Ichigo is realizing, everyday a little bit more, that not only has he wasted two years of Grimmjow being around on putting up stupid rules and not engaging with him further, but he’s also been kind of an asshole, so really, the best thing to do would be to.

“I can hear you sulking.” The Arrancar curled up at the foot of his bed grunts.

“I’m not, Grimmjow, let me sleep.” Ichigo pulls the blankets tighter around his body, so much so that he’s worried they’ll rip. His human body is certainly not as strong as his spiritual form, but then it is relatively strong. He looks over at Grimmjow, in Ichigo’s thin t-shirt and sweatpants, the house has pretty decent air conditioning, unlike outside, it’s not muggy. “Hell, do you want me to get you a futon? You can rest a bit here. Didn’t you say Urahara was being weird?”

This is the complete opposite from what he’s supposed to do, fuck.

Grimmjow glances his way, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m fine sitting here Kurosaki, I’m no pansy-ass human.”

Ichigo pushes himself up on his elbows, blanket bunching around his waist. “You enjoy being difficult, don’t you?” He huffs, glaring at Grimmjow. “Fine, have it your way, be cold over there.”

The Arrancar glares. “Fine.”

And Ichigo does try to sleep this time, he swears, he cocoons himself in the blanket, and closes his eyes, and grits his teeth so hard they hurt. Why the fuck did he have to go and get feelings for _Grimmjow?_ The guy spends their every meeting trying to gut him, and really, he might be good looking, and Ichigo has no problem liking men, but there are a bunch of other good-looking men he knows, who are less murderous, hell, even Byakuya… Not going down that road.

Anyways, Grimmjow might be hot, and sometimes, when he gets distracted, a little cute. And he might be the only person -other than Rukia who is busy with her wedding planning nowadays- Ichigo feels completely at ease being a mash up from hell with, but he clearly isn’t interested back and _why_ is Ichigo even considering-

There’s a sigh from the end of the bed. “You can do your stupid human…friend thing.” Grimmjow says softly, and it really is almost a whisper if Ichigo wasn't what he is, he wouldn’t catch it over the rain beating down against the window. “Stupid Kurosaki.”

It all still takes a second to sink in, any work Ichigo just did on not wanting to lay Grimmjow down on his bed going straight out of the window. He pushes himself up again, slowly this time, searching Grimmjow’s face for the catch. “What?”

“You can-” Grimmjow’s knuckles are white where he’s clutching the bedding, his mouth is pressed into a thin line. He’s staring at Ichigo’s floor like he could burn a hole through it. "Ugh.” He says again, cheeks aglow. “You heard what I said. Just don’t touch my neck, uh- it's a hollow thing.”

It’s probably some leftover protective instinct, the neck _is_ a particularly deadly target. Or maybe Grimmjow has noticed the way he's been staring at it the past couple times they've met. He swallows, hard. “Why? I thought-” His head is spinning, just a little.

Grimmjow groans, deep and long in the back of his throat, he looks like it’s taking a bunch of effort to simply sit there, Ichigo would like to ease that, he would. “Kurosaki, you’re on thin ice already, don’t push it.” The Arrancar grunts, still not looking at him, still trying to poke holes in his bedding.

Ichigo really should be more mature, he should consider that he might end up more hurt, that he might hurt Grimmjow. But twenty isn’t that old, or that mature, and he’s been drawn to Grimmjow from the start. He sits up fully, slowly, turning the Arrancar’s permission over in his mind.

Careful, he leans forward, weight shifting to his knees, until he’s close enough to see blue eyelashes and how stupidly flawless Grimmjow’s stupid skin is. Then, finally, the man turns to look at him, confusion painted on his face. And Ichigo panics. “Uh, your hair.”

“What?” Grimmjow asks, and it’s not even angry, he isn’t even glaring. In fact his face looks open, vulnerable.

With his face on fire and his hands itching to touch, Ichigo drags himself even further forward, a little more and their legs would be touching. “Can I?”

Maybe Grimmjow didn’t think the offer would be taken seriously, maybe, but Ichigo can’t see how when he’s probably being more obvious than Aizen’s stupid butterfly transformation and-“I just said you could, are you deaf?”

It’s easy to bicker with Grimmjow, easy and almost relaxing, sometimes. But something in Ichigo zeroes in the twitching of the other’s jaw and how he looks oh-so-normal in Ichigo’s clothes, sitting in his bed. That something in him snaps.

He’s still careful, though, and though he may not like other people referring to Grimmjow like he’s a pet, he does approach with the same caution he would a very wound up, very big alley cat. All the while, the righteous part of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Ishida keeps yelling at him to stop being an ass and that he _really_ doesn’t do this with his other friends.

But Ichigo’s made his pitch, and it sold, so the Ishida-voice is swallowed up by something heavier, something that feels definitive as he sits closer still, knee bumping into Grimmjow’s and lifts a hand to brush back the man’s hair.

Grimmjow’s shocked eyes follow him, disbelief clear in them. But he doesn’t move away, and when Ichigo’s fingernails scrape lightly against his scalp he tenses up so much that for a split second Ichigo is sure he’s about to get his head bashed in. That is, until Grimmjow’s eyes close and his still-tense body leans into the faint touch, his face may still be scrunched up but a little sigh escapes his lips.

Never having been one to exercises self-restraint, Ichigo does something stupid.

Or nearly does.

His other hand finds Grimmjow’s hair too and for a moment they're so close he almost leans forward and-

“You humans are weird.” Grimmjow opens his eyes staring straight at him, a pained, restrained look in them.

Ichigo balks, immediately loosening his grip on the other’s head. “So- sorry, did I hurt you? I didn’t think I grabbed too hard, I-”

“T’was fine.” Grimmjow mumbles, looking down, his back is slumped forward, head hanging a little. “Felt kinda nice or whatever.”

“O-oh-” It feels like an offering, everything about this. Grimmjow isn’t one to sit there and take something he doesn’t want, but he does seem taken aback by the contact, by how it _feels._ From their conversation earlier, Ichigo knows it’s not something that he’s getting in spades or ever did, and he has read of something similar happening in humans, but would it extrapolate to Hollows so cleanly? Yoruichi didn’t mean it this way -probably- when she called Grimmjow a baby the other day, but Ichigo is starting to feel like It might be that way, even if just a little.

There is a an out to this where he doesn’t push further, where he’s respectful and proper and says he always wanted to do that and thank you for letting him. There is one.

His hands find the sides of Grimmjow’s head again, brushing through soft strands -stupid Arrancar and their stupid perfect bodies, and smooth skin, and hair with no split ends-,the pads of his fingers press into the Arrancar’s scalp, they search out Grimmjow’s temples and rub little circles into them, just hard enough for Grimmjow to groan.

The position gives Ichigo ideas, ideas he really shouldn’t act on. He isn’t even sure he’s ready for most of those, and they would involve actually manning up and _telling_ Grimmjow.

If Grimmjow doesn’t know already.

Ichigo shoves the desire to pull the Arrancar into his chest, he settles for the way Grimmjow’s muscles loosen a little more with each passing second.

And he doesn’t know how long they stay like that, sitting awkwardly on his bed while he -for lack of a better word- gives Grimmjow a head rub. It’s a warm, comfortable haze, and foreign yet absolutely comfortable.

But of course, the spell breaks eventually, Grimmjow’s eyes open, hazy blue barely a right around his blown up pupils. And he just _looks_ at Ichigo for a second with something that isn’t wary or defensive. Until, of course, they widen in surprise, pupils contracting into pinpoints and he shoves Ichigo’s hands away. “Enough of that, Kurosaki. The rain stopped.” He slides off the bed, feet seeking his boots on reflex. “Go to sleep, I'm going back to Urahara’s.”

“You don’t have to-” Ichigo reaches out, but his hand barely brushes cloth. “I wouldn’t mind-”

Grimmjow’s face is forcibly impassive when he set his eyes on Ichigo then, almost dazed except for his wary eyes. “I have no idea when you turned into some sort of head perv but I’m tired.” He grunts, and pulls the window open. “I’m expecting a hell of a spar next time.”

Ichigo remains frozen, the contrast between the moment they just shared and this stings. The latter part of Grimmjow’s statement is the one that hits hardest, of course he’d put up with Ichigo’s general weird, all Grimmjow’s ever wanted out of him is a fight and he’s shown in the past he’s willing to tolerate many things to get one.

That’s all he wants. Ichigo tries to smile, although he knows no one is looking, Grimmjow’s already slipping out of the window, long neck craned up at the sky. “Alright, see you Sunday, then, I’ll bring your clothes.”

Grimmjow’s head snaps to the side. “Yeah, see you on Sunday, Kurosaki.” He falters for a second. “I’m not done fighting you with that horn out.”

And then, the room is silent once again.

.

.

Isshin finds him sitting in front of the washing machine as it runs it’s cycle. It’s five-forty-six in the morning and Ichigo has not slept a wink.

He looks up, a little wary. “He went home.”

Isshin’s eyebrows rise. “I felt it.” He says, rinsing out the coffee maker like it’s going to mask the concerned looks he keeps throwing Ichigo’s way. “Please tell me those are _not_ your sheets in there.”

Ichigo looks up, dead-eyed and sleepy. He barely has the energy to glare. “It’s not what you think.” He purses his lips. “Everything just smells like-” He shudders, remembering the moment Grimmjow flew away in a burst of Sonido and he realized that the room reeked of the Arrancar, and that even though that’s never been a problem before, he needed to either go and drag Grimmjow back or absolutely scrub his presence from his room. “-I needed to do my laundry anyways.”

“Ichigo!” Isshin chastises. “I can’t believe-” He mock faints. “-under my own roof.”

“You _know_ it’s not like that!” He hisses, unable to help the heat that rises to his cheeks. “Stop teasing, I know you’d be way madder if it was like that.”

Isshin’s eyebrows rise. “I think you’re missing the part where I married a Quincy.” He laughs, low and deep. “I’m actually a little bit mad you didn’t make him stay for breakfast.”

“Dad!”

“What?” Isshin shrugs. “I’ve been woken up by your bathroom routine every Sunday for two years, I think I’m owed a little more deference now that it finally seems to be leading somewhere”

“It’s not leading anywhere!” Ichigo huffs, eyes on the washer. “He wouldn’t even have come in if you weren’t so pushy.”

Isshin purses his lips. “Shouldn’t you be raving about what a sweet, understanding dad I am to allow your hollow boyfriend in the house?” He snickers, like it’s funny, like it would be normal even.

“He is not. He’s a friend! And barely at that!” Ichigo shoots back, rising from the stool he’s been sitting on for the better part of an hour, reliving that interval of five minutes with Grimmjow enough times that it doesn’t feel very real anymore. Maybe he fell off the roof alone and hallucinated? That would be a lot easier to swallow, head trauma aside.

Isshin throws his head back and laughs again. “Riiiiiight, oh Masaki, how can he be so dense! I knew you were it the moment I saw you!” He exclaims turning back to the poster that he _still_ hasn’t taken off -although to be fair it keeps Karin and Yuzu from bringing boys to the house, so maybe it’s not such a bad thing- the wall. “And he can’t tell why he just sulked for a week!”

Scoffing, Ichigo eyes the timer on the washing machine, two minutes. “Quit bringing that creepy portrait into this, oh my god! Dad!”

Isshin looks back, tears at the corners of his eyes. “How can you call my lovely Masaki creepy. I know you’re into muscles Ichigo but-”

“Oh god, stop being creepy!” He squeezes his eyes shut, a headache is already beginning to pound in the back of his head. “There’s nothing going on between me and Grimmjow!”

He must sound anguished, or something close to it, because Isshin’s face sets into something a lot more fatherly. He finally turns away from the poster and takes a step towards Ichigo. “Son, how many times have you seen Rukia-chan in the past six months?” Isshin, of course knows the answer is one, so he keeps talking even though Ichigo is doing his best impression of a murderous glare. “And Uryuu-kun?”

Ichigo feels his shoulders slump. “I see Inoue all the time.” He says defensively. "Where is this going?”

“Because she waits for you after her lectures to walk home with you.” Isshin points out, and fuck, he isn’t wrong. “Ichigo, you’re not dumb, and _I_ _’m_ not dumb, that Arrancar is the only one you make much of an effort to see, you’re always so much happier when you know you’re seeing him soon, except for… Well, today _._ _”_

“It’s a Saturday.” Ichigo points out, and the alarm that signals the washing cycle is done starts playing. It gives him a good excuse to escape Isshin’s hold, at least.

Behind him, his father snickers. “Oh, believe me, I know. Your sisters have a chart. The closer the end of the week is, the nicer you are.”

A pregnant pause ensues where Ichigo starts robotic ally pulling out the items in the washing machine. “Can't you leave me alone?” He says finally.

“Fine-” Isshin snaps and though he’s turned around Ichigo _knows_ the pout he’s wearing. “-I am here for when you are ready to admit it to other people, I don’t believe a child of mine would be dense enough not to know by now, even if he wont admit it.” He snickers lowly. “Especially because you’re doing his laundry.”

Ichigo turns around to protest, but Isshin’s already gone, and, well, he _is_ indeed holding Grimmjow’s jumpsuit in his hands -apparently, the guy wears no underwear, _that_ was another awkward discovery from last night-, the soft, stretchy material familiar to the touch.

His father’s right, it might be the most fucked up crush ever. And maybe he’s developed a thing for Grimmjow’s neck, which is apparently the last place he should be going for, but he couldn’t deny it to himself this past month and he cant now.

He shoves the jumpsuit in the drier and hopes it shrinks.

.

.

Urahara looks like the cat that got the cream.

Not that he usually doesn’t.

But he does _even_ more so today.

“Your sparring partner has been going at it since dawn-” he drawls form where he’s sitting in a hammock in the back porch of the store, a glass of juice in his left hand. “-please tire him out, he woke Yoruichi up and now she’s grouchy. Do you know how destructive that woman can be when she’s both in her lady days _and_ sleep deprived?”

Ichigo physically recoils. “Urahara. Did I absolutely need to know that?” He glances at the man’s relaxed form. “Also, you don’t look stressed at all, and please get your legs out of my sight.”

“This is my back porch, Kurosaki, I will not be shamed. It’s hot enough as it is.” He sips at the juice. “Also, I need you to understand how important it is. At this pace I’m going to need to rebuild the bunker. I was so happy on Friday when I thought you two worked out you issues, but I guess that’s not the case.”

An embarrassed flush rises up Ichigo’s neck. He _may_ have been a little annoying, dropping by the shop often to see if Grimmjow had finally decided to stop his vanishing act. It wasn’t graceful and Urahara knows all about it. “There wasn’t actually an issue.” He sighs, suddenly feeling tired. “I was just overreacting.”

“My, that must be embarrassing-” Urahara laughs. “-but it is pretty strange because that boy left this shop a ball of anger then came back and slept for a full day.” His eyes, always sharp, always half-hidden, study Ichigo. “Sure seems like he worked something out to me.”

Now on a good day, Urahara is a twisty riddle-filled bastard that makes Ichigo’s head hurt. Today, with two hours of sleep on him and on the twenty-sixth consecutive hour of a migraine that Isshin had to give him medication for last night, Ichigo really isn’t even in the mood to try. He tugs on the sleeve of his Shinigami robe and glares at the man. “If you’re not going to speak plainly, _please_ just tell me where his room is so I can drop these off.” He says, lifting the transparent plastic bag he brought Grimmjow’s clothes in.

“My, how bold you are, Ichigo-kun.” Urahara snickers. “Are you sure you’re not the reason he slept so long? You seem to have worn him out good.”

“Oh, shut up, you know it’s not like that. I wasn’t about to send him here wet.” Ichigo grumbles.

“You do know that Hollows don’t catch colds, don’t you?” Ichigo shoots him an exasperated glare. “Fine, fine, it’s the closet door of Ururu’s room.”

He has to fight the urge to gasp. “You gave him a closet to sleep in?”

“Oh, no, I’m not as heartless as you were to Kuchiki-san.” Urahara waves him off. “It’s a proper little room, don’t worry.”

Ichigo walks past him, he almost manages to keep his mouth shut. But something has been bothering him since that day, and well, who _else_ is he going to ask? His dad is way out of the question, Rukia wouldn’t know, Mayuri Kurotsuchi might ask him for a blood sample or something and he’s in soul society. Yoruichi is a solid option but god knows where she is and what kind of a mood even. Besides, she’d make just as much fun of him as Urahara will.

Grimmjow would be the only other option, but, for _very_ obvious reasons, Ichigo is saving that one for last.

“Uh, Urahara?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know anything about, uh- Hollows being protective of their necks?” he asks, hand going to the back of his neck out of reflex. “I’ve never noticed anything like that, but apparently it’s a thing and-” Ichigo did _not_ expect Urahara to begin cackling like a stupid hyena. Fuck, Yoruichi would have been the better option, he’s sure of it. “Oh, forget it-”

“No, no Ichigo-kun-” Urahara says, when Ichigo turns around his head is hanging off the back of the hammock and he’s wiping tears form his eyes. “-that’s a very valid question. I mean it’s a natural instinct to protect the neck, even a little wound there can cause an important amount of damage. Most of the more evolved hollows aren’t very obvious about it, though, they just don’t bring much attention to that part of their bodies. Besides, to those with strong mating instincts it can be a big distraction, as you know-”

“As I what?” He knows he’s gaping. “Hollows have mating instincts? Like mating seasons?”

“Ichigo-kun, you’re a biology major.” Urahara deadpans.

“Not hollow biology! And I just changed Majors!” He huffs. “How does it even work, is it like animals?”

“Well, it’s mostly an evolutionary remnant, I’d say.” Urahara hums. “The number of highly evolved hollows is low as it is, and them seeking to mate even less. You know how it is, when two Vasto Lorde meet one another they generally end up fighting. It seems that there was a time their numbers were a lot larger though, a long time before Aizen. And then they _would_ and the neck is where the claiming bites would go-” he pauses dramatically and Ichigo, as if on cue, swallows hard. “It’s rare nowadays though, I don’t know of any mated pairs that currently exist, this is all just from what I read back when I was allowed inside the soul society records. It’s not a particular field of study I’ve been interested in.” He smiles wide. “May I ask why you’ve come to me with such a question? You could go right to the source for this kind of information.”

Stupid Urahara and his playing dumb. “N-no reason. I-I heard from- from Nel-” He whips around, hoping the ex-captain hasn’t seen his how red his face has gotten, and races in the house. “-thanks.”

“Don’t forget to tire him out! I mean that!” Urahara calls after him.

Ichigo heads up quickly, head spinning. Mating instincts? What?

Could it be Grimmjow- No, rather could it be Ichigo himself has those? No wonder the Arrancar seemed so put off by it, it probably borders on harassment.

And what does this mean for Ichigo?

Fuck, he needs more information.

A fact that is driven home even more brutally when he peeks into Ururu’s room and spots the closet door. He really intends to drop the bag inside and nothing else, but as soon as he opens the door the fucking _scent_ assaults him, the one he had to wash his sheets twice to get rid of. And it’s stronger here, something musky, with an undercurrent of fresh, cold air and a little copper.

He barely even takes in the single bed and tiny nightstand in the bare tiny room, that’s how hard it hits him.

Ichigo _doesn_ _’t_ smell anyone else like this, fuck, is it-

“Did you get lost on the way to the bunker Kurosaki?” Growls a familiar voice from behind him, and Ichigo doesn’t have to turn around but he does because he can’t not do it.

Grimmjow is leaning on the door jamb in just one of his jumpsuits, which is zipped up only enough to cover his Hollow hole. He’s covered in sweat and a thin layer of dust, and if the smell was strong before, now its so overwhelming it makes him break out in a cold sweat. “I- your clothes.” He says, shoving the bag towards the Arrancar, who looks down at it with a furrowed brow.

“Hey, are you sick or something?” Grimmjow says, taking a step towards him.

And Ichigo, Ichigo doesn’t feel like himself. His eyes have zeroed into a droplet of sweat that’s slowly sliding down over the Arrancar’s Adam’s apple ,and he’s sure he’s a second from pulling Grimmjow to himself and licking it off. Since everything happened, he’s stopped hearing the voices of his hollow and everyone else that lives in his head, but the heavy, hungry, dark feeling he has hanging over him right now is overwhelming and unmistakable.

Fuck, _fuck._

“No-” he says, taking a step back, making the Arrancar hesitate, electric blue eyes widening. “I mean, I am I have a migraine, I just- I don’t feel well.” His mouth is running on the last functioning, rational neuron in his head. “I can’t spar today- sorry.”

He doesn’t- he _can_ _’t-_ wait for Grimmjow to reply, instead, he shoulders past the blue-haired man, holding his breath for as long as he can and darting out of the back door like a madman, under Urahara’s amused gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This won't all be angst, I promise. I wanna write tender bbys and I totally plan to.  
> Thank you all for commenting and reading.
> 
> Love! Kyrye


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ichigo, did you pull me out of a dress fitting because you wanted to read about Hollow mating habits? Is there something you need to confess to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, I'm having the time of my life making up the mating cycles and you're going to see the dork in me there for a bit. This story will not include m-preg, though, because I'm not confident that I could write it well -and lets face it, I would totally geek out and there'd be like a chapter of Urahara and a diagram explaining reproductive systems-, although I do love that trope.  
> This chapter has skipping POVs because I couldn't resist making them contrast a bit.  
> Hope you enjoy!

After an extremely cool shower -there’s no hot water, Yoruichi must be home- Grimmjow quickly shuffles to his room, teeth gritted, fists clenched by his sides tight enough that if he was in his release form, his claws would be buried deep in his palms.

Where does that stupid _asshole_ Kurosaki get off? Showing up here with his wide fucking eyes, breaking into a cold sweat the very _moment_ he sees Grimmjow then bolting like some woodland animal.

Now that he thinks about it, the bastard did look a little sick though, Grimmjow could hear the telltale, hurried sound of his heart beating from way down in the bunker. Not that he would have needed it to find Kurosaki when he was leaking reiatsu in quantities that could probably be seen from Hueco Mundo. And he did look pale too, Shinigami aren’t supposed to be able to catch viruses, or so Urahara says, but who the hell knows with that freak show.

Grimmjow almost feels bad for having very much enjoyed the way the man looked, standing in front of the door to what he considers his room here, the way he smelt-something sweet and spicy that Tessai would likely have a name for, but Grimmjow doesn’t- looking like he belonged there.

That is, of course, until Kurosaki shoved a bag of clothes in his arms, claimed to have something unpronounceable, and proceeded to very nearly Sonido away.

Well, whatever, it’s not fun if he’s not at his best anyways.

Fucker.

He closes the closet door to his room and starts methodically drying his hair, vigorously rubbing it with a towel. The plastic bag with his clothes, still tied up at the top feels like a little fire burning in the corner of his bet. He has another change of clean clothes, he _could_ just wear those, let the ones from Kurosaki’s house air out a bit and-

His hands find the tight tie at the top, undoing it impatiently, tearing the bag.

The smell that wafts out isn’t pure Kurosaki, but it’s similar. Some artificial sweetness that probably comes from the laundry soap his whole family uses. It’s funny, the humans probably don’t realize, but they mark their packs just as strongly as other creatures. At the though, Grimmjow does hesitate, the smell _is_ nice and he feels particularly compelled to wear the jumpsuit. No one would know anyways -maybe Yoruichi, but who cares about that hag?-, no one would realize.

Irritated as he is, he’s not surprised when he zips the thing up to his chest and decides to forgo the jacket. It’s too damn warm anyways.

After Kurosaki left, he spent the better part of the day flattening every rock in the basement. Based on how he’s felt lately, he usually would lie down and let sleep take over him, but even as he lays down and turns off the light, something keeps nagging at the back of his head, maybe it’s that idiot’s dismayed face when he fled. Maybe he’s just indignant because he was looking forward to today, dammit.

The two hours he does manage to get are hellish, he’s too hot or too cold. By the time he wakes up there’s a sheen of cold sweat on his brow, and he’s managed to unzip his jumpsuit far down enough that his dick is almost damn well hanging out.

Oh fuck this, there must be _something_ worth killing in this stupid little town other than Kurosaki, and if there isn’t he’s damn well opening a Garganta to Menos forest, fuck Harribel and her stupid balance.

He trots down the stairs, two at a time, the itch under his skin ever growing.

“Now, that’s a scary face.” Yoruichi is perched -in her human form, in a fucking bathrobe- on Urahara’s lap, they look very cozy, curled up in the hammock that the stubbly bastard does not seem to have left all day. _Great_ , if there’s something worse than either of those two being all shitty and smug, it’s both of them being all shitty and smug.

Grimmjow looks away, he has no interest in what undergarments Yoruichi is wearing, if any, and the swaying of the hammock isn’t helping keep the scarring image out of his eyes. “Yeah? You should see yours hag!” He snarls, hurriedly pulling on his boots. “Imma go for a walk.”

Something white-hot and urgent is simmering under his skin, burning all over, it makes him want to raze this little stupid town to bits. It could even be fun, he could make a game out of it, he’s _that_ annoyed at this stupid situation. “Take a while, will you?” Urahara snickers, I have research to do and Yoruichi-san and I haven’t spent any quality time together in a while.”

Grimmjow whips around. “What, since last night?”

Urahara’s smirk says it all. “Some of us enjoy physical affection that does not constitute aggression very much-” He turns his cheek into Yoruichi’s shoulder. “- speaking about aggression, whatever did you do to poor Ichigo? He left like he was being chased by a pack of angry ghosts, didn’t even say goodbye to us.”

“Fuck if I know!” Grimmjow growls, rolling his eyes at the ex-captain. “Said he had to migrate or something then fucking ditched me like a coward.”

Yoruichi throws her head back and laughs. “’Scuse me?” She cackles, then turns to look at Urahara. “Kisuke I can’t, they’re too funny. Can’t we have some mercy on them?”

Urahara’s eyes dart between the both of them. “Meh, it’s funny, don’t you agree?” He laughs again. “But fine,” he turns to look at Grimmjow. “I believe he meant a migraine Grimmjow-kun, it’s a very bad headache. I have just the right medicine for it, ah if he’d just told me…Would you do me the favor of delivering it to his house? Since you’re going out and all, it’s a black jar in a box under the loose floorboard in the kitchen.”

“Isn’t that where you keep the booze?” Grimmjow asks, smelling the man’s fishy intentions form a mile away.

“And other things!” Urahara replies cheerily. “Pretty please? He also had a bunch of questions I don’t quite have the knowledge to answer. You might Grimmjow-kun, do it for him.”

On one hand, he could stay here and argue. On the other, he could take Urahara’s stupid booze -because he may not have known what the hell a stupid migraine was, but he sure as hell doesn’t believe Urahara keeps medicine with his secret stash of good booze- and drink it on his way to wherever it is he’s going for a fight. “This better not be another of your stupid experiments-” he huffs. “And the fuck do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Urahara waves him off. “Just some silly things about hollows, and for the record, I’ll know if you drink it all so don’t even bother, at least give Kurosaki some of it. It’s a good one.”

“SO you admit it’s booze.” Grimmjow turns around, regardless.

“It does help headaches, you know?” he snickers in a way Grimmjow remembers Aizen doing, it makes a shiver race down his back. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” And then he proceeds to -very noisily, very messily- start making out with Yoruichi, who only seems surprised for about half a second before she follows his leaf. Grimmjow’s stomach turns. He goes back in the house, gets -two jars, Urahara can suck it- of the stuff he was told to take and sets off out of the front door.

At least the night outside is crisp, it helps ease the burning, itchy feeling of whatever it is Kurosaki woken up this afternoon. By now he’s almost sure his body is playing a very bad joke on him, Kurosaki isn’t even a full hollow. And _yes_ Grimmjow may have admitted -very quietly, in a moment of madness, to _himself_ \- that in some way or another he _wants_ Kurosaki, but that doesn’t mean he ever thought this thing might be triggered.

In his time as an Arrancar it hasn’t been triggered once, despite being around a bunch of other hollows with reiatsu equal or higher to his-

By definition, Grimmjow doesn’t much believe in luck.

But damn, his is terrible.

At least Kurosaki doesn’t seem to be at his house.

.

.

“We could get arrested for this-” Rukia’s whisper sounds like a shout in the dark, quiet corridor as she disables yet another Kido barrier. “-I’m a _vice-captain_ Ichigo, why couldn’t you just _ask_ Kyouraku-soutaicho for permission?” Despite her complains, she peeks around the corner that leads to the Archive’s entrance. “Or Nii-sama? He co-owns this place.”

“Your brother-” Ichigo gapes at her for a second. “-never mind, I couldn’t because then I’d have had to explain what I needed to come here for.” He says curtly.

Rukia glares at him as they reach the heavy, ornate door at the end of the corridor, unlike it, the Archive seems to have actual windows, what spills from the cracked door is twilight sunshine. “Well than, the least you could do is tell _me_ you ass, you know, the person you dragged out of a bridal boutique for this little meltdown?” she huffs. “And you could have made an excuse, or just told Nii-sama you were seeking to enrich your mind.”

Ichigo snorts at her. “Your brother would see through that in a second-” He sighs. “And I’ll tell you if I’m right, Urahara said something, and I’m sure I took it the wrong way. Besides, I only asked you if you knew where this damn thing _was_ you’re the one that decide it was a convenient excuse to ditch the dress fitting and tag along, midget.”

Rukia’s face has just a hint of red at the cheeks as she holds the door open. “Well go on through, princess.” She grumbles. “And yeah, maybe, but you’re not supposed to crash wedding preparations like that.”

Halfway through through the door, Ichigo stops to glance back at her, the low, ashamed tilt to her voice is telling enough. “What? Are you getting cold feet now?”

“I- no! Why would you say that?” Rukia glares at him, before kicking him in the shin and storming off into the library. The door almost hits Ichigo in the face.

Great.

Now she’s mad at him and he has to wade through the very last place he’s ever thought to get to know in Soul Society basically on his own.

Not to mention he’s breaking and entering, he half expects to get stung to death by Soifon’s zanpakuto any moment. On the flip-side, it would make his current predicament a lot less important. God, he misses the days when what he needed to do was just cutting some random evil bastard down.

Although then again, he could go and get a weird crush/mating _thing_ on another random former-enemy, Ichigo wouldn’t put it past himself or his stupid luck.

The archive’s library is empty -which is no wonder, considering how many Kido barriers Rukia had to put down and up again when they were breaking in- it’s silent, warm, and somehow squeaky clean, with tall mahogany bookcases that seem to stretch for miles before they are cut off by even more rows of bookcases, laid out so they point across the narrower side of the room and not the longer one.

Does he even have any hope of finding _anything_ here?

Maybe he should’ve just stayed home, when does listen to Urahara ever lead to anything good anyways?

Rukia is nowhere to be seen, so Ichigo begins aimlessly wandering through the rows and rows of wood, and parchment, and paper, picking a random book from between the others occasionally to check if what he’s looking for might be close by. It so happens, however, that as a civilization built on the basis that is sending pluses up here and cleansing the hell out of hollows, the Soul Society’s Archive has a shit load of books on both of those.

-he does find some other more, eh, exotic books, from Koi fish breeding, to zanpakuto care, and something about beautification through reiatsu that sounds _very_ scary-

So he keeps wandering around, scoffing at overly-philosophical titles and abhorrently useless essays, all the while with one thing on his mind.

And really, he wishes he was more worried about how very scary the word ‘mating’ feels when he’s used to hear it about animals, that would be the _rational_ reaction to all of this. But no, he’s thinking about how worried -and even a little scared- Grimmjow looked before Ichigo ran out on him this morning. Never mind that it was probably because he did look decently sick, being on the verge of a panic attack.

When it gets too dark to read the spines of the books and the titles of the scrolls, he’s ready to give up -or find help, maybe see if some library monster ate Rukia or something- but a second after a defeated sigh escapes his throat, bright lamps flare to light from above.

Ichigo looks down at the book he’s holding. ‘The possible taxonomy of Hollows.’ By Komamura Gao.

He flips through it idly. Nothing seems too promising, but at least it looks like he’s finally in the right section of the library.

It takes another several dozens of books, but by the time he finds, ‘Particularities of Hollow mating habits.’ By -of course it’d be _that_ bastard- Kurotsuchi Mayuri. Shin’o Academy third year. It seems worth leafing through, at least, Ichigo leans back into the bookcase he found it in and starts impatiently going through it -the first few pages seem to be dedicated to describing anatomy variations between Adjuchas, there are pictures, he isn’t very interested in those- Until he reaches a chapter helpfully titled ‘The Mating Cycle.’

Something soft and stringy tickles the side of his neck, Ichigo doesn’t bother to glance at it. “Alright, what If I’m a bit overwhelmed-” Rukia says, gracefully hanging upside down from knees bent over the top of the bookcase. Ichigo jumps at the sound, and she takes the chance to swiftly take the book from his hands and bring it up to her face. “Aha! What’s your dirty-”Ichigo tries to recover the book, but she’s already pulled herself up to the top of the bookcase, alternating between gaping at him and at the book. “Ichigo, did you pull me out of a dress fitting because you wanted to read about _Hollow_ mating habits? Is there something you need to confess to?”

“This is why I didn’t want to-” He jumps up to stand on the sturdy bookcase in front of her, thankful that the ceiling’s stupidly high. “Rukia, it’s important! Come on!” He asks, stepping towards her.

Too used to his movements, Rukia dodges, an amused glint in her eyes as she holds the book up to her face. “First phase: The two individuals identify and asses the other’s reiatsu unconsciously. This tends to happen through fighting or other similar exercises, especially since the Adjuchas population has declined in their numbers in the past few years-” she dodges again, turning the book so she can read the cover. “Kurotsuchi-taicho _wrote_ this, of course he would. Anyways, boring… boring…” She clears her throat, skidding back a few feet when Ichigo tries to grab her by the waist.

“Rukia, cut it out-” he pants, has she gotten faster?

The evil midget, however, doesn’t, instead, she continues reading out loud. At least they’re alone. “It must be noted that mating bonds between Hollows don’t always seem to serve the purpose of procreation…ew… despite this difference the effects a prospective bond has on the mates-to-be are similar to those found in humans and other animal species… experiment extreme anxiety when separated, alterations of the sleep-vigil cycle, strong attraction to one another’s scents and-”

“Rukia-” He lunges, a little delirious, not only with irritation but at how well the stupid book seems to be describing the absolute train wreck the last month of his life has constituted.

“I’m just getting to the good part!” She protests. “Why are you so worked up?”

“Because I think i- I have that-” he points at the thin book in her hand. “For Grimmjow?”

Rukia stares at him for a second, eyes the size of dinner plates. “You did read-” she says carefully. “-that this thing-” she points at the book.”-is supposed to last like five weeks at most didn’t you? It’s in like, the first line of the chapter.”

“I had just found it Rukia!” He huffs, exasperated even when he holds the book out to him and he snatches it from her hand. A little ball of hope starts to unfurl in his chest, so he _could_ be mostly normal. “And why does _that_ matter?”

Rukia sighs, giving him the look one would give a misbehaving toddler. “Seriously? You’ve been awfully close for-”

Ichigo shakes his head, no, even he isn’t so dense as to think this is all _just_ some weird Hollow thing. “I’ve had all of these-” He hisses. “-For like three weeks now, no more. _He_ _’s_ been mostly normal-” Except for the head rub thing, but Rukia doesn’t need to know that.

Rukia is silent for a few seconds, then she turns her head up at the ceiling. “Oh, Ichigo.” She says, and adds no more.

But Ichigo is already too busy reading the stupid little book to pay attention to that.

.

.

How does anyone with even an iota of spiritual awareness in this shitty town sleep?

Kurosaki bursts back into the human world half a city away, emerging from a Senkaimon that definitely isn’t his doing because it’s actually subtle, not that that’s any good when he fills up the sky like a tiny bomb.

Grimmjow, sat on a hill behind a small skating track on the very northern edge of the city, just watches.

The night is warm, not as damp as most have been lately, and the cool grass feels pleasant behind his back. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s possibly, a little drunk, even though he hasn’t drunk all that much of the sake that Urahara gave him. Maybe he should drop the second jar off at Kurosaki’s place, it’s not like he’s looking to poison himself, if that’s even possible.

He wonders, for a second where Kurosaki went if he was so sick. Probably to meet the midget or something.

He grits his teeth so hard that he hears a small cracking sound and his jaw hurts. Stupid midget, maybe Kurosaki wasn’t even sick, maybe he just didn’t want to see Grimmjow and made up an easy excuse on the spot. It wouldn’t be surprising.

Huffing out a breath, he drops back on the grass, eyelids already oh so heavy.

If this whole thing really is what he’s starting to suspect it is, he’d be better off going back to Hueco Mundo. Maybe finding somewhere decent in the mountains to chill at while a month or two pass, just for good measure. To hell with going back to Harribel and her stupid chores, Grimmjow can make it alone, far away from Las Noches, with some decent game to entertain himself with.

A sharp tug at something in his chest startles him, he knows it’s stupid, impossible instincts taking over him, the very thing Aizen tried to force them to somewhat abandon. Fucking bastard, if he’d done a better job at it-

Something’s coming.

For all of the fact that he’s visible from a hundred miles away, Kurosaki’s also fast. Grimmjow gets all of five seconds warning -in which all he can do is yell at himself for the excitement that blossoms right above his hole- before the orange-haired-man is landing softly behind him on the grass. The already densely packed reiatsu of Karakura all but trembling around him.

Grimmjow’s hazy brain whispers that he looks nice…strong.

But he’s not _that_ drunk, and he’s also pissed off. “Sick, aren't ya Kurosaki?” He hisses, rolling away.

Just one wrong word from this bastard about ditching him and Grimmjow’s going full release form. Killer Quincies or not.

“Look I-” Kurosaki sounds a little choked out, and a lot terrified. Grimmjow glances over his shoulder, from his cool appearance he’s shifted to half kneeling behind him eyes trained on Grimmjow. “You’re right, I’m not sick-” he sighs. “-I went to Urahara’s today looking forward to sparring with you but-”

“But it’s more productive to go off with your Soul Society buddies, I know, why are you bothering me now?” He grumbles, shooting Kurosaki a glare and turning back to the nearby tree line.

“Grimmjow-” Kurosaki sighs, and Grimmjow hears him sit down on the grass. “Urahara mentioned something- is that sake?” He must’ve spotted the two jars in front of Grimmjow, who tosses one behind himself, much aware of the fact that Kurosaki’s going to catch it -or not, but whatever, he’s pissed at the asshole right now- then goes back to his previous posture. On his side, arms crossed over his chest.

“Knock yourself out.” He says, nails digging into his arms,, burying his nose into the grass because Kurosaki smells like spice and electricity and he really doesn’t want to deal with that right now. “Urahara said it was for your stupid migraine anyways.”

“And you were drinking it alone, in a hill-” Kurosaki huffs out a laugh, despite his apparent concern. “-on the other side of town from my house.” He hears the Shinigami take a long gulp of alcohol, smells the bitter thing mix with his natural aroma. “I’m sorry about today. But I need to talk to you right now, it’s something serious.”

A slight breeze picks up around them. Grimmjow shivers, the urge to curl his legs into his chest, and the urge to turn around and bite Kurosaki -in which way, he has no idea- fighting each other in his head. He settles for the middle and turns on his back, gaze firmly set on the sky. “What, should I lay out a podium and a red carpet for you? This is as good as you’re gettin’ Kurosaki, I’m still pissed.”

“And you’re going to stay that way, I’d say-” Kurosaki observes. “I’m not going to be around much starting now for like a month.” He says softly, stopping only to pour sake down his throat. “I need- I can’t- and you shouldn’t come over like the other day either.” He obviously sees how Grimmjow stiffens, how his jaw, even hidden under his mask, tightens hard. SO this is it, he can’t say he particularly expected it to happen this soon, but in general…

“Sick of me already?” He says, turning on Kurosaki with a venomous glare and snatching the jar from his hands. “Fucking fine Kurosaki, forget about it, you’re not going to hear a peep out of me. Promise.” It’s what Grimmjow should be doing anyways, keeping his distance, what does it matter if it’s permanent?

There’s a short pause. “Fuck.” Kurosaki utters quietly. “Fuck, ok.” He says again. “You deserve to know why.” The tone is forceful, and saddened, Grimmjow wonders for a second if he sounds pathetic like that too. He’s a second from telling Kurosaki to fuck off, that it doesn’t matter, or that it shouldn’t matter. But part of him is also curious Kurosaki , in all his infuriating niceness, is not one to lay down a line like this, so bluntly it borders on cruel. “So things have been strange these past few weeks, I’ve- It was just weird at first, I felt like I was too aware of-” He breathes in a deep breath. “-of you.” He blurts out, and it’s like a switch has been flipped, like the words that follow are pouring out of Kurosaki’s mouth faster than he can. “I kept smelling you, and- and- a bunch of other weird things. Urahara mentioned something, today, about hollow mating instincts and then I went up to your room and it made… a bunch of sense, really so I bailed. Fuck, I went to Soul Society to look it up, and I’m pretty sure it- It’s that. I’m so sorry, according to the book it should clear up in a couple of weeks-”

“What?” Grimmjow sits up, ramrod straight. “Are you making fun of me, you asshole?”

“Of-” Kurosaki frowns. “No I’m not, Grimmjow, listen-”

“No-” Grimmjow leans in, snarling. “-you’re what? A fifth hollow and you’re telling me-”

“I didn’t know either!” Kurosaki yells. “Do you know how weird it’s been, I feel horrid for- for grabbing you the way I have.” His cheeks darken. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

Kurosaki’s serious.

Kurosaki is _serious._

Grimmjow can only gape at him. Yes, mating triggers generally trigger at the same time for both individuals involved. It didn’t seem likely with Kurosaki, for obvious reasons, but he’s serious about this and- “Wait, fuck, no wonder you were being so weird. The first’s the worst.”

“Yeah, I actually got dizzy today-” Kurosaki breathes out in relief, his shoulders slump. “I’m sorry.” He says again, hands tugging out bits of grass from in front of him, and Grimmjow notices he’s sitting a full meter away, and his hands are buried in his lap like a scolded child’s. “I should be-”

What possesses him then, he has no idea-hell, it’d be easier to explain to himself if he jumped the damned human- but all Grimmjow does is call out. “Wait, I-” the words all crowd in his throat, this isn’t going to help at all. All that’s happened is a stupid primitive instinct has activated and they should do their best to ignore it until it goes away -and it _will_ if they aren’t stupid, if they do exactly what Kurosaki is planning to-, then things could be normal. Stupid Kurosaki. “-I’ve got it too.” He blurts out. “Stop fucking apologizing.”

“You-” Kurosaki’s eyes are wide. “-is that why you’re wearing that jumpsuit?” he asks quickly. “Because it smells-”

“Shut up.” Grimmjow snaps, suddenly remembering he has the sake bottle and taking a long swig of burning spirits from it. “This already sucks bad enough.”

Kurosaki’s eyes darken at the indirect admission, and Grimmjow has to look away. “It should only last another couple of weeks.” He says after a few seconds, lips pursed into an unhappy pout. “That’s what the book said, at least.” He says, eyes searching Grimmjow’s face.

“What book?” Grimmjow growls. “And yeah, you should be rid of me in around that much. Guess Ururu’s getting her stupid closet back-”

Kurosaki rummages inside his shihakusho for a second, before turning to hand Grimmjow a thin,, old-looking book. “This one. And what?” The Shinigami’s eyes widen, instinct, Grimmjow has to remind himself, any cue that makes him think Grimmjow’s going to be separated from him should be turning him in circles right now.

“Even you’re not that damn stupid Kurosaki. It happened once and we didn’t do anything,” He sighs. “‘s gonna keep happening if we’re around each other.” He shrugs, looking away from the dismay in Kurosaki’s eyes. “So yeah, you’re gonna be rid of me, don’t look so happy.”

“I’m not,” Kurosaki jumps, bracing himself on the ground, and then he’s suddenly less than a feet from Grimmjow, face scrunched up in annoyance. “You don’t like to be in Hueco Mundo any more than I like being in Soul Society. I’m sure Urahara can come up with something-”

“Isn’t it easier this way? Do you want this to keep happening?” He matches the Shinigami, in volume, in intensity, the bottle is placed on the ground and Grimmjow rises to his haunches. “Do you want me to-”

Just now, Grimmjow could see the frustration building up in Kurosaki’s face at he spoke, he could see the stubbornness and the annoyance peaking, until the overflow. “It’s not about You!” Kurosaki blows up. “If anything-” He looks down and laughs bitterly. “"It’s more the 'weird, remnant hollow instinct' thing” He lifts wide, sincere eyes to Grimmjow’s face that almost make him stagger back, stupid mating instincts or not. “I don't mind that it's you"

"Quit lying Kurosaki, that makes no sense." Grimmjow dismisses, hanging to the thin threads of his own temper, of his own want with all his strength. It turns out, however, that any resolve he might have is useless in front of how genuinely _hurt_ Kurosaki looks. Grimmjow feels his chest seize up, he drops back on the grass. "Guess it could been worse tho', I'd have had a laugh if this happened to you with any of the others. "

A shaky laugh escapes Kurosaki’s throat. “I’m pretty sure Harribel would freeze me solid." He says, and gratefully accepts the jar of sake when Grimmjow hands it to him.

And then immediately looks away, Kurosaki is radiating sadness and it’s doing weird things to Grimmjow. “I guess we could ask Sandals, he might pull something useful out of his ass-” He offers as a consolation, a compromise. “This one’s gonna suck to get through, though.”

"Yeah, that's right.” Kurosaki agrees, taking another gulp of sake, he must’ve drunk more than Grimmjow by now, but that doesn’t stop him. “It’s Urahara, after all, it should be fine. I'm content with just-"

The feeling grows tenfold, sadness, longing, Grimmjow is nearly taken aback by it. But it’s only normal, isn’t it? Obviously Kurosaki liked having a sparring partner. The guy’s had enough weirdness for a few lifetimes and now that he finally seemed a little more settled in his life along had to come Grimmjow and a bunch of strange and inconvenient urges that he most likely doesn’t see as his own at all. And he won’t even bring himself to say he preferred it the way it was before because the bastard is just to damn nice to admit it. "Spit it out Kurosaki-" Grimmjow snarls, a mix of pity and frustration swirling in his chest. It would be so much easier if Kurosaki could just be an asshole and cut this all off at the toot. Maybe then Grimmjow’s traitorous hands wouldn’t be itching to reach out and touch him. The Shinigami’s startled gaze meets his. "What? Stop looking like that. I already know a fucking hollow is the last thing on your fucking list, it's not gonna hurt-"

The words die as an aborted sound in his throat, damn Kurosaki and his stupid cow eyes. _Damn him_.

Although at least that seems to rile him up, his chest puffs out. "You don't -" He nearly hisses, body tensing like he’s about to throw a punch. "-can you not assume shit for once? I enjoy your company, and I- and I-" His fists curl at his sides, one around the bottle, one into the grass, tearing out roots and dirt..

Grimmjow recoils despite himself, guilt seizing him with an iron fist. "You're a horrible liar Kurosaki.” He says, hoping that’ll be the end of it, regretting having opened his stupid mouth at all.

But there seems to be no winning today with Kurosaki, the bottle falls to the floor with a soft thud and then the man is leaping for him. His hands curl into the collar of Grimmjow’s jumpsuit, she smell of fresh grass assaulting his nose along with Kurosaki’s own. "I'm not fucking lying." Kurosaki grits out. “You don’t know shit, and if you don’t stop the self-deprecating act I’m-”

“You’ll what?” Grimmjow goads back, hands going to Kurosaki’s chest, pushing the man back with all his strength although all it garners him is Kurosaki wobbling back slightly, taking a knee to the ground as angry eyes stare down at him. “I’m waiting, Kurosaki-”his fingers dig into the fabric under them, hard and Kurosaki doesn’t even flinch. “- because if there’s something you can do about this shitty situation I’m all fucking ears!”

Kurosaki’s eyes widen, mouth going slack his breaths are coming in short, shallow and fast. Like he’s trying not to cry.

Grimmjow is fully expecting a punch, he is because what else could follow this. How else could Kurosaki respond to a situation like this one?

Of course the fucker finds a way to surprise him, the hands at his collar rise to his shoulders, they clamp around the joints like iron. And Kurosaki isn’t crying, what he is is burying his face into Grimmjow’s neck, warm skin pressed softly there and he’s so overly-sensitive that he can feel the difference in the way the way Kurosaki’s lips and the skin of his cheek feel.

In any other setting, maybe he could push the other away -or punch him in the stomach, that would do the trick too- treat this as a weird one off. In any other, because between the weird hollow hormones and the fact that he’s being literally cradled into Kurosaki’s chest, his brain short circuits.

His hands find the sides of the Shinigami’s shihakusho and tug him closer, closer still. And he turns his head into Kurosaki’s own neck inhaling deep and long, relishing in a feeling that’s surely temporary, but he wants his fill of all the same.

Kurosaki could bite him right now, bond them for however long this would last, and Grimmjow would bite back.

He almost does, his jaw goes slack, saliva pooling in his mouth, and _that_ _’s_ when Kurosaki’s grip slackens and he pulls back his head. “Fuck, I’m-” He swallows, looking like he’s just done something horrible. “Sor-”

Fucking idiot with a hero complex, Grimmjow cuts him off with his lips.

Which is probably the worst idea right now, because the moment they touch Kurosaki’s hands are back, pulling him back in by his waist. And he shouldn’t be, because it’s just a stupid _kiss_ but by the time Kurosaki’s tongue delves into his mouth, Grimmjow is shaking.

It’s weird and it’s overwhelming, nothing at all like what he remembers about his one attempt at mating as adjuchas. But that’s probably par from the course, a hollows though outer armor doesn’t compare in sensitivity to the flimsy wrapping Aizen gave them, even with the Hierro it’s a hell of a lot more sensitive, sparking a tingling desperate sensation under every patch of skin Kurosaki touches. And seeing as he’s the first since Grimmjow turned, seeing as-

There’s a hard nip and a tug at his lower lip and the sound that it draws from Grimmjow’s throat is so embarrassing that he outright refuses to name it.

Kurosaki himself is eager, almost desperate, his cheeks are flushed a deep red when he pushes Grimmjow down, immediately slipping one of his hands under the jumpsuits shoulder so he’s touching bare skin, greedy for it.. The stuttering , regretful Shinigami turns to something else as he makes Grimmjow’s back hit the grass. This is not how it’s supposed to be, not how Grimmjow would have imagined if he’d ever let himself do so.

But it feels _good_ , too good to be true.

.

.

When Ichigo stops, it’s because he feels the body under his hands shaking.

It has been for a while, but having sated some of the burning _thing_ that’s been assaulting him for the better part of a month, he finally manages to get enough of a hold on himself to pull away.

He's half laying on his side, his upper body looming over Grimmjow, whose bent legs are brushing against Ichigo's stretched ones.

A pang of horror lances through him, and he looks down at Grimmjow, wondering if this is going to be the straw to break the proverbial camel’s back.

He finds nothing to suggest that, though maybe his judgment shouldn’t be trusted. He feels drunk, he probably is, after having gulped down that inordinate amount of sake to force himself to tell Grimmjow they should put some distance between them, even while every part of him screamed in defiance and rejection of the idea.

Only for Grimmjow to admit he’s got the same stupid Hollow thing as Ichigo, and it’s apparently been driving him crazy too.

But of course, the bastard had to say he didn’t mind leaving in the same breath. Ichigo doesn’t know what’s more fucked up, that he has actual feelings for a Hollow outside the whole mating thing, or that Grimmjow clearly is only shackled to him by some weird reiatsu reaction that seemed to decide that they would make fine family.

According to Kurotsuchi’s book it isn’t even about offspring, the way it happens in animals -although in the right circumstances, which they thankfully do not fit, that can happen too- but about building some sort of pack. Which Ichigo isn’t all that opposed to, or wouldn’t be, if he knew it wasn’t entirely one-sided.

Grimmjow is as part of his life as any of his other companions, even more so, he’s been a sort of solace to Ichigo for a long time. Time that he spent falling in love with the fucker and apparently expertly avoiding the realization until his inner demon decided that it’d had enough, and bound them for six weeks into a stupid primitive ritual. All of which has culminated with Grimmjow laying beside him, hands still fisted in the fabric around Ichigo’s waist, trembling like a small creature in the cold, with the top of his jumpsuit pushed down over his shoulders and more than one mark of Ichigo’s teeth on his scarred skin.

Looking at Ichigo like he’s just either ripped out his heart, or shoved it right back in his chest.

And the hardest thing to swallow is that he only looks like this because of the stupid incomplete bond.

Which is never going to be completed, because it apparently lasts more or less depending on the levels of reiatsu of the pair. Meaning, with Ichigo in the mix, the damn thing might well be permanent.

“Did I hurt you?” He blurts out, “You’re shaking, are-”

The Arrancar shakes his head, still a little dazed from the looks of it. “Cold-” he huffs, but makes no move to cover himself, he just breathes a little faster.

Ichigo elans over, tugging the dark fabric back over Grimmjow’s shoulders, where it’s supposed to go. His fingertips barely brush Grimmjow’s skin, but just that touch makes him shiver even more violently, eyes that are barely thin rings of blue around black pools, follow the movement and he makes no move to get away. “Sorry-”

“Apologize again and I’ll hang you from your own entrails-” Grimmjow finally gathers enough of himself to say. “’S not bad.” He continues, looking at Ichigo’s hand on his chest.

There’s a ghost of a blush on his face, and Ichigo doesn’t know what he should be other than entranced, or what he should do except what he’s been itching to for so long, gliding his fingers up, up until they’re brushing over the defined muscles of Grimmjow’s neck, the Arrancar’s pulse beating wildly against them. “That wasn’t bad at all.” He murmurs. “You kissed me first.”

“D’you think I don’t know that?” Grimmjow huffs, tilting his head up, making room for Ichigo’s fingers to drag over the ridge of his jaw. “You kept looking like-” He stutters when a knuckle brushes over his cheek. “- like you’re the fucking martyr in this thing, and you were too close to get a good punch in.”

Ichigo hears himself let out a shaky laugh. “Usually, you would have bit me.”

Grimmjow frowns. “Careful there, Kurosaki-” A long fingered hand rises to cover the hand on Grimmjow’s face, pulling it off so it’s hovering over the skin. “-one wrong bite and you’re really stuck with me.”

 _I don_ _’t care._ Is what he wants to say, but this situation is confusing enough as it is. “Alright, I’ll be careful.” He mutters instead, gaze locked with Grimmjow’s as presses the palm of his hand firmly to the Arrancar’s cheek again. After a second, Grimmjow leans into it, eyelids falling to half mast, the hand over Ichigo’s trails over his arm instead under the fabric of his sleeve and as far up as it will go. “Do you think-” He stops himself, it’s a stupid question.

The sharp pang of fingers digging into the sensitive skin of his inner arm startles him. Grimmjow is glaring up at him. “What’s with you and getting choked up today?”

“Ichigo looks away. “It’s a stupid question.”

“This is a stupid situation.” Grimmjow grunts back, his free hand tugs at the arm supporting Ichigo’s weight on the grass. The gesture soft, and obvious. “C’mon Kurosaki.” He says, and it’s still shaky, he’s still trembling a little. Ichigo wants to take it away, wants to go to sleep in this lonely little hill with Grimmjow snug and warm in his arms.

He lays down awkwardly, taking his hands away from the Arrancar completely. His eyes find the clear, starry sky. “What do you think would happen if we didn’t-” he sighs. “-if we didn’t stay away from each other?” Grimmjow turns his head to shoot him a frustrated look. “If we didn’t do the- the biting- I mean.”

That seems to get to the Arrancar, who sucks in a startled breath. “It would fade eventually, I guess? I’ve never-” he groans. “How do you want me to know Kurosaki?” He stops to think. “And this-” he says, gesturing at the both of them. “-it would probably happen again. What the fuck are you hinting at?”

Ichigo presses himself closer into Grimmjow’s side, , an inch, a mile, after what happened just now it feels like such a little thing. “And then Urahara might have a solution before it comes back, right?” He turns to meet Grimmjow’s eyes. “I’m not chasing you out of Karakura for this.”

He says it with the conviction eh once used to say eh was going to storm another dimension he knew nothing about to save Rukia, and he knows Grimmjow sees it. Disbelief clouds the Arrancar’s face. “You’re fine with that?”

More than fine, Ichigo wants to keep him, wants to bare his neck and get this over with. He’s always had good luck at gambling on consequences, he knows he wouldn’t regret it if the Arrancar in front of him wanted it too. “It’s not a sacrifice, Grimmjow.” He says sternly instead. “We just need a little time for Urahara to find a way, and-” He lifts a hand to push Grimmjow’s messed up hair back from his face, nails scraping into the Arrancar’s scalp. His stomach is in knots from what he knows he’s about to say. “-this is nice.”

Before he finishes speaking, Grimmjow is already leaning into the touch. "It is." He hums.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! They finally kissed, but they're still dense as fuck.  
> I won't make any word count estimations because I suck at those. I'd love to read what you all thought of the chapter!
> 
> Love and hugs! Kyrye


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alright, alright,” Urahara interrupts, and Ichigo has never been so grateful to the ex-captain. “We’re here to discuss something punctual, Ichigo-kun and Grimmjow here interrupted Yoruichi and my private time,” he side eyes them. “To ask for something rather unorthodox—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a little while lol, because it has been a bit of a crazy month for me. I am however, smitten with this story and had a blast.  
> It is worth it to note that this has reached an E rating for certain, bloody activities. The smut will come soon too tho  
> Hope y'all enjoy it.
> 
> Betaed by [ Jules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxjules/pseuds/mxjules) who is amazing

One of the most traumatic memories of Ichigo’s life— and see, he has enough of those for a trilogy of books— is the time Isshin tried to give him ‘the talk’. To say that ended in blows and yelling would be an understatement.

The creeping embarrassment of it doesn’t hold a candle to  _ this _ .

Hell, the only thing that could make this conversation even  _ more _ uncomfortable would be if his old man was actually— “Jeez, you made me leave a patient with Yuzu. If something happens to my precious daughter’s innocence because you found something urgent to—”

Yeah, that’s his father, in full Shinigami garb, stepping through the side door to the living room of Urahara’s house. Ichigo wonders for a second if accepting Grimmjow’s offer of opening a Garganta and fucking off to the Menos’ Forest would still be viable. The look on the Arrancar’s face tells him that he’s thinking the exact same thing.

Sitting in front of them, on the other side of the low table, Urahara only seems amused— and a little drunk— as he idly strokes Yoruichi’s back— she’s in cat form, not that it matters— over his lap. “Nice of you to join us Isshin,” He says. “I figured this conversation might as well include you. These two—” he says, gesturing at Grimmjow and Ichigo, “Might just run off to Hueco Mundo before they tell you about what’s happening, and I’m not in the mood for dealing with Soifon-chan.”

Anyone who dares name Soifon like that instantly has Ichigo’s respect. He’s almost waiting for the captain to come swooping in with Suzumebachi at the ready, about to challenge Urahara about the affront of being named so familiarly.

Isshin doesn’t even have the decency to look curious, or surprised. He simply takes a seat at the table beside them and pours himself a cup of sake. “Thank you for including me,” He says, sounding almost world-weary, if the hint of playfulness in his tone wasn’t giving him away. “Kids these days, they think they can’t trust their parents.”

“I’m just traumatized because you cry to the poster about everything we say!” Ichigo protests. “You got emotional about Yuzu making snickerdoodles the other day!”

His father stares at him for a second, before tearing up. “My Masaki made the tastiest—”

“Alright, alright,” Urahara interrupts, and Ichigo has never been so grateful to the ex-captain. “We’re here to discuss something punctual, Ichigo-kun and Grimmjow here interrupted Yoruichi and my private time,” he side eyes them. “To ask for something rather unorthodox—”

“You two were playing scrabble!” Grimmjow interjects through his teeth. He’s sitting so close to Ichigo now that he can feel the heat radiating off the Arrancar’s body, and how Pantera is poking at his ribs. Ichigo sucks— always has, always will— at sensing spiritual energy of any kind, but that little touch of the literal manifestation of Grimmjow’s soul into his waist is making him tingly and restless.

Urahara glares at him. “That’s none of your business, and it was leading somewhere.” He says, smiling slyly behind his fan. “And I will  _ not _ be kink-shamed in my own home—”

Strangely, it’s Isshin that returns the room to some sort of order. “I really did leave Yuzu with a patient.” He says, clearing his throat. “And it’s half past four in the morning, can’t you save that for later?”

Ichigo wants to yell at Urahara, though. His father was the last person he wanted to tell about this.

Although, then again, Isshin, theatrics aside, isn’t a fool. Sneaking an Arrancar around Karakura— while violently making out with said Arrancar, amongst other things— would probably land him in a similar situation to this. “Dad, I’d love it if you went back to that patient.” He says, burying his face in his hands.

Isshin raises an eyebrow at him. His gaze drifts to Grimmjow, who is looking more and more like a frazzled cat by the second. “Please tell me you two aren’t starting a war of some sort.”

The Arrancar bristles. “So what if we are, old man! Like we need—” It’s reflex. Ichigo has no idea who’d win between Isshin and Grimmjow, nor does he want to find out, and he can  _ feel _ how on edge Grimmjow is, ready to leap either across the table or through a Garganta. His hand finds the Arrancar’s thigh right above his knee.

Hard.

What he expects is for Grimmjow to redirect his rage to him, but something else happens; blue eyes turn on him, wide and defiant, even as the Arrancar closes his mouth and brings his arms to cross over his chest.

Fuck, he’s pouting.

Fuck, he looks good doing that.

And  _ fuck _ , Ichigo needs a cold shower.

“Anyways!” Urahara says, clicking his fan shut on the table. “We’re here because this issue pertains to us all, and because I actually thought Isshin-san might have some input, seeing as he was in a relationship with a half-hollow and I didn’t think you all would take kindly to me calling Lisa or Hiyori-chan.”

“Hey, who’s—” Grimmjow asks.

“People you shouldn’t meet.” Ichigo interrupts. It’s bad enough that Grimmjow sort of knows Karin from when she comes over to the shop; no need for him to meet the Vizards, too. It might bring about the end of the world or something.

Grudgingly, he nods for Urahara to continue. “Alright then, so,” The ex-captain smiles. “These two seem to have awakened some hollow instincts;  _ mating _ instincts, to be exact.” Isshin chokes on his sake and Urahara laughs. “I know, it’s not so common. I was surprised too. And you see, Ichigo-kun apparently broke into a library in Soul Society to get some more info.” He holds up the book that Ichigo retrieved from the central archive. “With this and my own research on the issue, he hoped I could figure something out so that it won’t happen again.”

“That… seems sensible.” Isshin replies, thoughtful, before turning to Ichigo with tears quickly forming at the corners of his eyes. “My son! Why didn’t you come to me?”

Ichigo groans. “Really?”

Even if he was a normal young adult, he’s sure this isn’t something he’d want to talk to  _ Isshin _ about. Hell, the only reason he hasn’t ejected himself into another realm of existence is that Grimmjow is so on edge; he wouldn’t be surprised to find himself on the wrong edge of a Desgarron if someone pushes the Arrancar even just a little.

Again, Urahara clears his throat. He’s doing his best to look tired and very much done with this, but it’s kind of a futile exercise when everyone in the room knows him enough to be aware of the fact that, deep, deep down, he’s just as morbidly obsessed with anything new as Kurotsuchi. He just has morals… and manners. “Well, them staying away from each other is out of the question, for obvious reasons.” He says, pointedly looking at the absolute lack of space between their bodies. Ichigo tries to be bashful about it,  _ really, _ he tries, and he also tries to scoot away, but he hears Grimmjow growl, low in his throat and immediately decides everyone else in the room can suck it. Besides, the situation proceeds to turn even more embarrassing. “Did something like this ever happen with your wife, Kurosaki-san?” Urahara asks nonchalantly, turning to Isshin.

For once, the older Shinigami seems taken aback, he fumbles with his words. “I—” He swallows, and Ichigo can see the dopey, smitten smile that crawls over his face. Oh lord. “There was once, before Ichigo was b— But she never mentioned anything like this, it was just—” Color rises to his cheeks, and Ichigo thanks the heavens that he stops himself there.

Urahara hums “I see, and what did you two do then?”

Isshin’s eyes dart quickly between all the occupants of the room. “Uhmm—”

Finally, Ichigo surges up, cheeks flaming. “Do I have to be present for this conversation?!” He interrupts, and can’t help but notice the way Grimmjow is instantly by his side.

Urahara laughs. “Well, I thought you might appreciate the insight. I guess I could invite one of the Vizards if you're so uncomfortable.” At the murderous glare this earns him— Ichigo channels his inner Byakuya Kuchiki— the older man quickly abandons that idea. “Anyways, with such short notice, I don’t believe we can find something that will just shut down these instincts, at least not now that they’ve been triggered.  _ Especially _ since you’re both hybrids. It might be dangerous, so for this one time, you’re going to have to ride it out.” He pulls two new sake cups, seemingly out of his sleeve, and sets them in front of Ichigo and Grimmjow. “Now, the most sensible option to be for the two of you to stay away from each other after the effects disappear, but since you’re looking for something more practical, I could try to create something that shuts the impulse down. I’m thinking a sort of hormone suppressor, but it’ll take some time to refine in order to reduce adverse effects. I’ll need samples, would that be alright?”

He’s looking at Grimmjow, but it’s hard to know what the Arrancar is thinking when for the past few minutes, he’s been tenser than Ichigo has ever seen.

It’s a wonder he hasn’t snapped a tooth or something with the way he’s grinding his teeth. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Grimmjow hisses through those very clenched teeth. “Like you haven’t taken my fucking blood before.”

And then he’s stalking off to the back porch while Urahara watches him go. “That’s exactly why I’m asking.”

.

.

So, needles suck.

No big deal. After some time with Aizen, anyone would be rightly more afraid of a needle than a sword.

It’s fucking logic or something.

Not that stupid hat-and-clogs knows that, at least not from Grimmjow’s mouth, buthe probably at least suspects it. Well, that or Kurosaki has suddenly stopped being dense, and  _ that _ doesn’t sound likely, because since Grimmjow came back in, the orange-haired menace has been watching every minute twitch of his face like he’s going to up and gut someone.

Which frankly, he kind of wants to do, but he’s not  _ completely _ unhinged, dammit.

“Just another tube.” Urahara says, uncharacteristically serious. “And then I’ll need a reiatsu sample.”

No, Grimmjow has no interest on why the fuck the guy needs this much blood. So far, he’s taken only a couple of tubes; it’s probably not even half of what a nick from Kurosaki’s sword draws, so acknowledging that while seeing those things with their little multicolored caps laid out beside Kurosaki’s—who had  _ no _ issue with getting his blood taken away— makes him a little sick.

The worst thing is that Grimmjow doesn’t even remember what the hell it was that Aizen did that involved needles— possibly something that crackled and burned— only that the vague memory of it makes bile rise in his throat, discomfort filling him though whatever it is Aizen did and then took away.

Seriously, who thought making a guy with  _ that _ for a power a captain was a good idea? Shinigami really are stupid.

“Hey,” Kurosaki’s voice floats over to him. “Just one more, we can go down to the bunker after.”

“I didn’t—” He hears Urahara whine, before there is a pause and he sighs. “Fine, but I’m putting a silencing Kido down there. Yoruichi really will kill me if you two make a racket. So if he tries to kill you, you’re on your own.” There’s a barely noticeable pinprick of pain in his arm, and when Grimmjow glances at it, there’s barely a tiny bead of blood pooling at the place where Urahara pierced his Hierro with the needle— what the fuck is that thing  _ made _ of?— a few minutes ago. “There, I’ll get the reiatsu sample later. Youtwo go play.”

“Wait,” Kurosaki near growls. “ _ Fuck _ .” Grimmjow’s face snaps to the Shinigami’s, but Kurosaki is already lunging for his arm with a small bandage. “It’s the— the thing—” he tries to explain when the tiny piece of plastic is securely covering Grimmjow’s arm.

Oh, that shit, right.

“May I suggest that cutting each other up in my basement isn’t exactly advisable if you’re experiencing such urges?” Urahara mutters, amused.

They both glare at him. “Shut up sandals, or I’m drinking  _ your _ fucking blood.” Grimmjow curses, shoving himself off the kitchen table with such force that the thing falls to the floor with a clatter. “C’mon,” He says, dragging Kurosaki out of the kitchen by the collar of his Shinigami robes. The Shinigami hesitates for a second. “Jilt me again, Kurosaki, and—”

“I was just going to tell my dad that Kon has my body, jeez.” He turns to the older Shinigami who is leaning on the counter, having what seems to be a telepathic exchange with Yoruichi as he sips at his sake cup. “Don’t let him do anything weird.”

“This conversation isn’t over, Ichigo.” The older Shinigami warns, cheeks reddened form the alcohol as he sags over the marble. He doesn’t make any move to stop them, though. Kurosaki goes pliant, letting himself be dragged over to the trapdoor that leads to the bunker.

He doesn’t bother with the ladder; they fall through the air into the artificial midday-sun-soaked landscape.

Kurosaki, to his credit, doesn’t even blink as they fall, quickly shifting in Grimmjow’s grasp to brace a knee into his chest and kick him away, hunger swirling in his eyes.

When they land, they’re the perfect distance away for a run up. Three swords are unsheathed and Grimmjow can’t help the rush that fills him as Pantera sings through the air. He’s been waiting for this spar for, what? Two weeks? It’s going to be worth it, it’s going to be  _ great _ .

The fact that Kurosaki smells a little different now, like some spice he can’t name, barely makes a difference when the personification of destruction leaps for him, sword high in the air, a howl of joy escaping his throat.

And when he’s met halfway, parried away by a pair of swords that spare no effort in knocking Grimmjow back into a rock formation—and almost through it— the pleasure of the hunt spikes, and builds. Before he even plans for it, he’s yelling out his release command. Pantera is a part of his soul, after all; it has mostly disintegrated before the last syllable of it’s name leaves Grimmjow’s lip.

And still, still, Kurosaki doesn’t falter.

There’s usually some more play before either of them brings out a release form, or a Bankai, more playful enjoying the clash of swords.

But not this time.

Kurosaki’s hollow form crawls over him, an incomplete thing that suits him well. One of his eyes burns bright yellow on a background of a starless night, a horn sprouts from his forehead, and his smirk turns into something mean, something smug that tells Grimmjow just how much he’s been holding back for the last few days.

Fuck, he  _ loves _ it.

Swords are sheathed, and he meets Grimmjow’s claws with his own.

It’s not describable; neither of them is a particularly strategic fighter, nor do they enjoy mind games. It’s claws against claws against teeth that rip away the shoulder plating of Grimmjow’s release form, revealing the skin below, including the place where it begins to fade into black fur. He laughs, loud and deep. “Careful, Kurosaki.” He warns, even though the blood lust is enough to quench the stupid mating instincts right now. “That was close.”

“Not even.” Kurosaki pants, voice distorted. “Not close enough.” He says and he lunges again, and again. Turning the whole thing into a dance; familiar, yet ever evolving.

Something inside Grimmjow screams, quenching the smidgen of rationality that Aizen tried to wedge between his instincts.

There’s an opening, and he goes for it.

And he’s so close, so close to that stupid patch of skin that keeps coming into view, when impossible winds make the collar of Kurosaki’s shihakusho flutter open. At least, until a hand shrouded in pale hollow skin grabs at the mass of blue hair flowing down this back and  _ tugs.  _ Kurosaki’s backed up into a rock, grinning like a maniac with his two toned face and his two toned eyes. “That’s too close,” He mocks, and his grip is painful, both in Grimmjow’s hair and his shoulder.

“Bastard,” Grimmjow growls, the respite in the fight bringing the effect of Kurosaki’s closeness, of his smell, back full force. “Can’t play dirty unless you bring the hollow out to play, can you?”

Kurosaki’s grin only widens. “Maybe I was being nice.” He says, and his sharp nails dig into the place where Grimmjow’s armor got ripped off earlier. It’s not the only opening; one of his sides and his left leg are also sporting gaping holes.

“Fuck you,” Grimmjow spits, and that’s when Kurosaki leans in and a warm, wet thing slides up the side of his jaw. There’s a scratch there; a tiny, inconsequential thing that he only notices now because it itches when Kurosaki’s stupid—  _ are human tongues that long? _ — tongue swipes over it, tasting the blood.

The damned hybrid draws back, licking his lips like he didn’t just put his tongue on Grimmjow’s face.

Although, to be fair, he did a little more than that at the hill, but that isn’t in either of their minds at the moment. 

Of course, then he freezes, white leaching from his skin as fast as black does from his sclera, and he looks so shocked even Grimmjow feels a little sorry for him.

In the middle of feeling absolutely overheated, of course.

There’s no telling how long they’ve been sparring for; it coupled have been minutes, or hours. They’re both covered in cuts and scrapes, and ruined garments and armor. Grimmjow’s hair is matted with blood, and Kurosaki’s hands are caked in sanguine where they have returned to blunt, calloused fingers instead of claws.

He’s looking a little horrified, Grimmjow figures, at himself. He’s human, after all, and humans are weird. “Oi, snap out of it.” He rasps out, burying a fist in the rock beside Kurosaki’s head. It doesn’t help, and the stupid ginger keeps staring at him wide eyed, mouth slack. “Kurosaki!” Grimmjow reprehends again, taking a step back to grab the guy by the shoulders and slam him back into the rock.

His knees have a whole other idea of their own, though; they wobble.

It’s barely noticeable. Hell, Kurosaki doesn’t notice, even though he’s literally in front of Grimmjow, but he himself does. What the hell?

As an Adjuchas, this was  _ very _ , very different— never mind that his to-be mate died soon after. There was none of this weird hesitation. He figures it should be the same between Arrancar. This is just Kurosaki’s freaky human-ness rubbing off on him.

Well, that, and the fact that he’s  _ young _ . When Kurosaki does snap out of whatever weird, guilty trance he’s been in, he looks confused, almost hurt, truly  _ young.  _ “Fuck,” he curses, voice raw. Grimmjow takes another step back because the image is foreign to him, because he has a feeling he should never be seeing Kurosaki like this at all, but for what reason? No idea there. “That… was weird… wasn’t it?” Kurosaki mumbles, even as he takes a step forward, not allowing the distance between the two of them to widen at all.

The hair in the back of his neck literally rises, and Grimmjow huffs. “How many times do I have to tell you so it stays in your idiot head?” Another step backwards, and Kurosaki continues approaching. “I’m a  _ hollow _ . You’re whatever you are, it’s fuck-fucking normal.”

That seems to cheer the other up a bit, some of the shame fading from Kurosaki’s face, and Grimmjow immediately wishes he hadn’t said it. Light brown eyes immediately take on a more playful quality and Kurosaki stands taller. “Yes, but,” He smiles slowly, sharply, there must be some remnant of his hollow that has not yet been pushed down. “That would mean you want to too. You’ve been biting me for years, so it should—”

“You little shit,” Grimmjow huffs, digging his heels on the ground. Let him come if he thinks he can get an Arrancar flustered. “It’s different, and your ass knows it. Unless you want me to tear out your throat here, I’ll gladly do you that favor!”

“Grimmjow, I’m not trying to fight. I’m genuinely curious.” Kurosaki says, placating even though he still sounds smug. “You didn’t tell me the whole truth the other day.”

Grimmjow stopped backing up, but Kurosaki never stopped moving forward, which has resulted in them ending up chest to chest again. The left sleeve of Kurosaki’s shihakusho is hanging off his shoulder, barely fit to be called that anymore, and he’s bleeding from his side. It’s not a deep wound, but Grimmjow can still smell it. “Did you  _ want _ me to blurt that out?” He asks, confused. “Like that would’ve gone well.”

Kurosaki throws his head back and laughs, his neck is long, Grimmjow can  _ see _ the artery pulsing under a flimsy layer of skin, and if not that, at least his shoulder, at least… He smells nice, and this close, without outright fighting going on, it’s hard to ignore. “You were afraid  _ I’d _ react badly?” He laughs again. “Grimmjow. My life has been one weird revelation about my own body after another.” He straightens up, and the reiatsu flare that always seems to be hanging around him becomes denser. Like this he feels bigger than Grimmjow even though physically he isn’t.

“I didn’t fucking want to! I didn’t think you—” He clamps his jaw shut, hands closing into fists by his sides. This is it, isn’t it, he’s going to punch Kurosaki through the stomach after they spent, like, three hours making out on a fucking hill last night. “Fuck off, Kurosaki. You found out on your own anyways, didn’t you? I wasn’t gonna do something ridiculous like that. Knowing you, and your stupid savior complex, you might have offered out of pit—”

Kurosaki lets out a frustrated sound. “I  _ was _ offering, you idiot!” He yells, so up in Grimmjow's face he can feel the damned ginger’s breath on his face. “Just now! Or I was trying to.” Huffs. “Oh god.” He turns to press two blood-crusted fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“See?!” Grimmjow blurts out, hot rage and shame rising from the pit of his stomach. An old, primal instinct to turn around and flee seizes him. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez doesn’t  _ do _ that though, so he steels himself and remains where he is.

Another groan escapes Kurosaki’s throat. “No!” He notices the minute shift in Grimmjow’s stance, though. Because the next thing he knows, there are hands fisting at the fabric at his hips. “I  _ liked _ that! And I wanted— I  _ wanted— _ Can you  _ not _ make me say these things, and bite me or something already?”

Yeah, Grimmjow wants to bite him. If he were just slightly less stunned, he already would’ve, what with the fact that basically half of the Shinigami’s torso and arm are exposed.

His eyes quickly, unwillingly, flicker down to Kurosaki’s bare neck again.

No, fuck, that’s the  _ last _ thing he can do. “Urahara keeps saying I have no preservation instinct or something.” He says lowly, saliva quickly filling his mouth. “But that’s you, isn’t it?”

A long suffering, wry smile crawls over Kurosaki’s mouth as his eyes go hazy and unfocused. “You’re not the first person who’s told me that by a long shot.” He says, and when Grimmjow draws back, he makes no move to cover any of the skin he’s exposing. “Don’t get cocky, you overgrown cat.”

But Grimmjow is already lunging for the soft skin presented to him, too entranced by the smell, by the thumping of the other’s pulse to give a damn about the taunt.

.

.

It hurts.

But not in a  _ bad  _ way.

Then again, Ichigo has been near cleaved in half with a variety of instruments, in more than a handful of occasions— often by this very same man— and sometimes he wakes up and he can still feel Ulquiorra’s hand damn well ripping his mediastinum out of his chest.

So, it doesn’t hurt badly; it’s just teeth and a sharp sting on his deltoid. It’s just warmth blooming across his chest and his arm and his cheeks.

And who is he kidding? This smell alone could knock Ichigo if his feet. It’s a fresh, stubborn freedom clinging to every breath he takes, it’s something that makes his hands tighten involuntarily on Grimmjow’s jumpsuit, makes him wonder if he could rip it off without having to dislodge the other man’s teeth from his shoulders or his hand from the small of Ichigo’s back.

He could bet the gods that it’s possible, right now.

Grimmjow moans. After the initial bite, he retreated, and now he has his mouth pressed to the wound; not quite sucking, just  _ tasting _ .

Ichigo  _ really _ shouldn’t find this so arousing.

That’s the least of his problems, though; he’s been hard since that moment when he decided to grab the other by the hair, and lick at that cut in his face like they were in some sort of very niche porno.

At least he’s not the only one. He’s literally pressed flush into his Arrancar’s body, and Grimmjow, as Ichigo knows all too well, doesn’t bother with underwear. “Mnghhh,  _ fuck _ .” Grimmjow groans against his skin, Ichigo glances down— though, until now, he’s been too afraid to, because who knows what other weird thing about himself he might find out, but it doesn’t seem like such an insignificant action could stop this train wreck now— to find there’s smears of already drying blood on Grimmjow’s cheek and chin, his eyes are half lidded pupils blown out.

The Arrancar notices, he meets Ichigo’s gaze, and immediately goes to recoil.

Ichigo— the part of his head that’s functioning at least, which seems to have space for very few things— has something else in mind though. His hands go from the sides of Grimmjow’s hips to the Arrancar’s back and they brush him to his chest, impossibly closer.

He buries his head in the man’s shoulder, all the restraint left in him going to actively ignoring how mouthwatering the man’s nape smells, how right it feels to turn his head and—

Instead of bonding himself, probably permanently, to the other, he kisses up that neck, licking over the Arrancar’s jaw with not an ounce of revulsion at the taste of his own blood on Grimmjow’s skin.

God, there’s something wrong with him.

A few things, actually. It kind of comes with the territory. But still, he never imagined he’d be licking his own blood off the face of someone that’s tried to kill him on several occasions.

Or that he’d want  _ more _ .

These days— before  _ this, _ he means— his hollow side is quiet. Sometimes, when someone’s being enough of an asshole, a twinge of animosity or irritation can ignite a fire in his belly that only fuels Ichigo’s natural—  _ terrible— _ temper. Or maybe he’ll get antsy enough if a certain amount of time passes without him drawing his sword. It’s basically conditioning from years and years of only thinking about the next battle, and the next and the next.

All of those are small things, things that he notices in the back of his mind while helping Inoue with her groceries, or sitting at his home desk.

In the weird tapestry that is his life, they’re just strangely-colored thread that only barely stand out when he forces himself to look for it.

This is different; it’s not in the back of his head, it’s front and center. Grimmjow is an exception, always has been in many ways, and the taste of Ichigo’s blood on his lips is not a stray discordant thread. It’s a fast spreading stain that changes every color in the fabric. No one has felt like this to Ichigo, not even the few people that he— that he—

It feels final.

And his rude, war-torn, sometimes stupidly adorable Arrancar only confirms it when he thrills into the kiss, when he lets Ichigo swallow the sound and does nothing else.

Of all the things that Grimmjow brags about, this is not one of them. In fact, for someone like him, he’s never even made a comment that might suggest he’s, well,  _ been _ with anyone. Ichigo knows he should ask, he has to. Hell, isn’t this something he should know? He’s been constantly near-killing Grimmjow, and until a month ago, this had never crossed his mind. It already speaks volumes that he had just about no idea Grimmjow would react like he did on that hill to being touched without killing intent.

And he  _ has _ to look that up, good gods, why is everything happening so  _ fast _ ?

Fast.

Too fast maybe. He reluctantly pulls away, meeting Grimmjow’s blown out pupils and trying to find something that feels more right than kissing the bastard silly. “You can do that again.” It rolls off his tongue easily, as easily as keeping his hands on Grimmjow’s body.

For some reason, the Arrancar looks floored. “Wha— You mean that?” He asks, like he can’t believe it.

“Well, I’d rather you asked first.” Ichigo says, taking a step back, breathing in deeply and tasting the dust in the air. “But it's supposed to be normal… you said it was—”

Grimmjow seems to gather himself then, shuddering slightly as he tugs at the collar of his jumpsuit. “You’re fucking crazy,” he starts ”But fine,  _ you _ have to ask too, Kurosaki. Nearly made me kill you with that long-ass tongue.” He says, looking down, ears pink.

Ichigo cranes his head to the side, long,  _ what _ ? He sicks out his tongue, it doesn’t look any different from usual. “Iths not long?” he says, while Grimmjow just watches him with disdain only a cat could conjure.

And then a burst of Sonido takes him away in the direction of the springs.

This time, though, Ichigo is close behind him.

.

.

In retrospect, Grimmjow has no idea whether Kurosaki choosing to be stubborn and stick by him is being either a help or a hazard.

The fake sun of Urahara’s stupid bunker is beating down on his back, at least wherever Kurosaki’s hands aren't.

Shut up, the fucker  _ insisted _ . Like Grimmjow didn’t almost take a bite out of his arm earlier, like he actually  _ cares _ — because he does, and that’s the worst of it. He’s being manipulated by his own stupid hollow into caring and Grimmjow does  _ not _ like that it feels too close to pity for him. So here Grimmjow is, laying his front on what was left of Kurosaki’s stupid shihakusho, with his jumpsuit shoved down to his hips and the idiot hybrid’s hands kneading at his muscles.

At first, he only intended to humor Kurosaki for a couple of minutes— because he can be a whiny pain in the ass when he doesn’t get his way— because, who  _ touches _ people like that. But then Kurosaki proceeded to rub sore spots he wasn’t aware he even  _ had _ .

It’s weird. At first, it made him squirm so much it made the ginger call him  _ ticklish,  _ and another fight almost sparked from that one comment. After a while, though, he managed to settle down, still twitching awkwardly sometimes— and this hasn’t been going on for that long, like fifteen minutes at most— but relaxing into the touch. It still feels weird, makes him breathe strangely at times, but doesn’t particularly feel wrong.

Now his instincts are saying that the idiot currently massaging his back is much more than  _ right _ . But those are his idiot instincts, and they have taken to chanting  _ matematemate _ whenever the ginger touches him; it’s pathetic and he refuses to be taken over by them. Isn’t that what Aizen supposedly did with them? Make them better than some stupid instincts and a bunch of resentment piled into a though, white exoskeleton?

Yeah, not happening.

Besides, this whole thing is going to end soon.

They’ll return to being two people that beat the crap out of each other on a semi-regular basis; Kurosaki will go on with whatever it is he does as a human and Grimmjow will eventually get Harribel to let him back into Las Noches without minding the stupid chore wheel.

Things are gonna be normal.

“Oi!” Kurosaki kneads harshly at the fleshy muscle above his shoulder. “Stop tensing up, you’re ruining my work.” He says, and then goes back to pressing his fingers to the sides of Grimmjow’s spine. “How are you so tense? I don’t think anyone—” he hears the idiot chuckle. “No, even the old people I learned on weren’t this tense.”

“Shut up.” Grimmjow hisses. He wishes he could lift his head and glare at the ginger, but that’s exactly when Ichigo starts pinching at the skin above his vertebrae, which makes the joint right under it pop gently, pleasurably. “Why were you even doing this to some old people? Areyou some kind a perv?” The last words come out a little more strained than he wants them to, but at least Kurosaki doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, I had to learn on someone,” He hums. “And you don’t get to complain, clearly, since you’re liking it.”

He has no answer for that, mostly because he’s  _ really _ liking it, and he really hopes Kurosaki doesn’t look too closely when he finally allows Grimmjow to get off his front. “Why’d you even learn? Isn’t this old people stuff? That devil cat rubs sandal’s feet sometimes.”

“Why does everyone insist on telling me things I don’t want to know?” Kurosaki says, groaning, and his hands begin rubbing down from the top of Grimmjow’s back, thumbs making deep, long strokes outward. “And yeah, it’s not exactly in my age group, but I kind of spent a year without any reiatsu. Turns out my body was a mess without it keeping it together, and apparently some of the wounds do carry back since it’s not a gigai.”

Grimmjow huffs. “So you had, what? Backaches. Fuck, you’re an old man. And you’re not flexible enough to do this to yourself. I  _ know _ that.”

“I was going there.” The hybrid chastises, annoyed. “So my dad took me to a physio, and  _ she _ recommended the massages. I was pretty skeptical at first, but then they ended up actually working,” He laughs, low and a little sweet. Grimmjow feels a shiver course through his back, hopes the other won’t notice. “So I signed up for a course last semester when I dropped out of the literature program.”

“Ah—” He means it as ‘ah, that makes sense’ or something of the sort, but it stops at that syllable and that syllable only, because that’s exactly when Kurosaki decides to rub circles into the bony prominences that stand out right under his hollow hole, the touch just hard enough to burn a little, to ache pleasurably. And the fucker knows what he’s doing; it’s clear when he continues that and leans over Grimmjow even further out so that he can use the rest of his fingers to wrap around his hips.

“See?” The other asks after a second, voice thick, still rubbing at Grimmjow’s lower back, barely touching the rim of his hollow hole at times. “I’ve never done it outside of class, but you  _ were _ walking like a wooden plank earlier.” He swallows, hard, hard enough that Grimmjow is sure he would have been able to tell even without his enhanced hearing. “If you want, I can get some actual oil for next time.”

_ Next time. _

Fuck, stupid, stupid Kurosaki.

This feels good. This feels great, even. This is  _ not _ something he should get used to.

Maybe the raging and general destruction of everything in his path if he were to just run off to Hueco Mundo until this is over would be easier to take, because this? This sucks in a very irreversible way. No one would miss a couple hundred Menos, no one would miss Grimmjow if he overestimated himself— or even if Urahara overestimated how much his reiatsu grew after that damned Aizen knockoff nearly killed him— and he wouldn’t object to whatever happened if he ran away, even if nothing of note did.

But of course, it would have to be different with Kurosaki. Nothing is  _ ever _ simple with Kurosaki; he’s a chaos vortex.

Grimmjow may have lived most of his life— that he’s fully conscious of— under the thumb of a crazy dictator and around his crazy minions that he only ever wanted to tear limb to limb. But he’s not stupid, he knows that this is leading to  _ things, _ and that the stupid ginger with the hero complex would suffer through the whole thing holed up in some pitiful room by himself; he already tried to do that. He’s doing this for  _ Grimmjow _ , because he doesn’t want to cast him back to Hueco Mundo and has already felt how awful the damned mating instincts can be.

Kurosaki’s doing this for  _ him. _

“Yeah, sure.” He answers weakly, because he can’t really do much right now.

Later, when he doesn’t feel like he’s both about to explode or doze off into the floor. When Kurosaki’s calloused hands around his hips and over his back don’t feel like they should be there, like they  _ have _ to be there. Later, he’ll figure something out.

.

.

When he gets back to his house, Ichigo’s hands are shaking.

Hell, at this point he’s not so sure it’s not all his body that is.

Holy fuck, what was  _ that _ ?

He’s never considered himself to be someone with a high sex-drive. Hell, he’s generally not even all that tactile. In fact, he only suggested the massage— despite being the one that technically ended up the most injured today, although by then, Urahara’s spring had already taken care of the wound— because Grimmjow started acting like a spooked cat the very second they got in the water, sitting in a corner of the spring. He was so tense that even his hair looked fluffier, and some part of Ichigo couldn’t stand that what seemed like progress could have just gone down the drain like that.

And then he found himself in front of a pouty, half-naked, face-down Grimmjow who told him to ‘do his worst with those silly human massages’.

Of course, Ichigo had to take it to heart, and of  _ course _ he had to make the bastard bite his tongue.

What he didn’t have to do was feel like he was being stabbed through the chest when the ex-Espada held himself still through shudders of discomfort from being unused to Ichigo’s touch, and he definitely didn’t have to feel near-joyous when the other loosened up under his palms, when his voice went low and devoid of aggression. Grimmjow probably sounds like that after he’s just woken up; he probably looks like that too, all warm and comfortable.

No, Ichigo definitely didn’t have to want to kiss down that back and shove the stupid jumpsuit out of the way, so he could—

“We weren’t expecting to see you here until tomorrow.” Of course his dad’s home, and his sisters, and Kon, in his body. The latter looks a little dismayed as he stands up and walks over to Ichigo.

“I ate all your lunch already.” He huffs indignantly. “You can have dessert.” Before he expels himself from Ichigo’s body, landing on the floor, where Yuzu carefully scoops him up and putters off to the second floor, presumably to put him back in the stuffed animal that the Mod soul usually resides in.

Ichigo slips back into this body. He does feel inordinately full, but there’s a slice of shortcake on the table in front of his usual spot that he’s not going to pass up on. “What do you mean we?” He says, glaring at his dad. “Did you tell them—”

“That Grimmjow-kun and you were on the wrong end of a Kido mishap.” Isshin hisses through his teeth, his eyes darting between Ichigo and Karin, who just looks bored. “And that he might come around often for the next few weeks so I’ve soundproofed and warded your room so their sleep won’t be disturbed when he breaks in through the windows.”

Ichigo hums; at least Isshin’s a quick liar. And he’s relatively good— all of that’s technically true, except for the Kido bit, and then it depends a lot on how one looks at the whole thing. He’s about to smile gratefully at him, when—

“You two suck at lying,” Karin huffs, shoving a forkful of shortcake in her mouth. “I do spend most of my time at Urahara’s! You’re mating that creepy guy that keeps sleeping on the back porch like a bum.”

“Yeah, I asked Ururu-chan.” Yuzu says, coming back with a mortified looking Kon— probably in account of the dress he’s been shoved into. “It’s like Hollow marriage, isn’t it?”

Isshin jumps, face red. “Wha— how did you even get in contact with that brat?! You two were supposed to be at school today!”

Yuzu smiles sweetly, sitting back down in front of her own dessert. “We have smart-phones Otou-san, it’s not that hard.” She says, then continues eating. “Wait, does that mean he’s going to be moving in?”

Ichigo, with whom the fact that he’s barely slept in the past four days is just catching up, has just been watching the back and forth and getting progressively redder as it occurs. He’s absolutely aware that Karin stopped being a sweet little kid like five years ago and started to become a sort of smaller Yoruichi with a much worse temper. But he’s never been so embarrassed.

He also never,  _ ever _ wanted to hear the word ‘mating’ come out of Yuzu’s mouth.

“We’re not getting married!” He finally snaps, feeling like steam just might be leaking out of his ears. “We’re trying to  _ avoid _ that stupid thing. Urahara’s working on something but in the meanwhile it’s just, uhm… hard to—” No, he can’t do this.

“Dad already said he soundproofed your room. Youcan have hollow sex in there, we won’t hear.” Karin says, still looking like she’s talking about the weather.

There’s a wail from the other side of the table, and Ichigo doesn’t have to look to know that Isshin is kneeling in front of the poster and warbling something about innocence and killing Urahara that Ichigo would rather not hear. Meanwhile, both his sisters are watching him with somewhat exasperated eyes, eating their dessert like he’s just announced he’s switching majors in the middle of a semester again.

Yuzu is the one that breaks the silence. “I don’t get it. Isn’tthe mating thing, like, a good thing?” She asks, leaning forward on her elbow. “Ururu-chan said it’s not common, and you’re always so happy on Sundays, even if neither of you will introduce this ‘Grimmjow-san’ to me.”

Ichigo huffs, picking up his plate. He’s suddenly very tired and a headache is beginning to take form behind his temples. “It’s not like that, Yuzu.” He sighs. “We’re getting it fixed, that’s all.”

Now, of the three of them, Yuzu is clearly the least intimidating, but there’s something about feeling the disappointed stare of his youngest sister as he disappears up the stairs that’s deeply unnerving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand there it is.   
> I always love to read your comments!
> 
> Love! Kyrye

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the least porny thing I've written in a while lol.  
> Thanks so much for reading people! I'd love to know what you think.
> 
> Love y'all, Kyrye


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